Harry Potter and the Heartlands of Time
by joe6991
Summary: Sequel to Wastelands! Time has all but run out for Harry Potter. There are no more second chances. No more desperate bids for salvaged redemption. The game has changed, and in the end Harry will learn that the cost of his defiance has never run so high.
1. Prologue: Back In Black

_**Disclaimer:**_ _Ere, what's your bleedin' game?_

_**A/N:** So here we go, ladies and gentlemen. The sequel to my immensely popular and orgasm-inducing story, Wastelands of Time. We'll start things slow, comparatively speaking, and build up to the overall essence of what this story will entail. It won't merely be a move to kill Voldemort. Sure, that'll be part of it, but there will be other major plot points, as well. Badass and sexy plot points, of course. You all know the drill by now - I write, you read, you review, I write some more. This prologue is more of a recap and general catch-up from Wastelands. I strongly suggest reading Wastelands of Time before you attempt to read this story, otherwise you're going to feel a touch out of place._

_-Joe_

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><p><p>

_**Harry Potter and the Heartlands of Time**_

_Prologue – Back In Black_

_When you've just emptied two barrels of a shotgun into  
>the head of your favourite bartender, it's a pretty<br>good bet that happy hour's over._

_~Ash_

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><p><p>

"_Fuck it, and please, do your worst."_

_Struggling to make a difference, I had unmade the world. And the most important things are the hardest to say, yes, as hard as being alone._

_Nothing harder, boss, so please, do your worst. An oddest feeling of remembrance aside, seldom seen and never heard, desecrated hope became a clock on the face of hell._

_You need to remember every scar, and that nobody likes clowns at midnight._

_But then so do we all, here and there, caught in desperate webs of regard and conflicting agenda, spurned on and on forever by the faceless grief of regret._

_Keep running, Harry. For all of our sakes, don't you stop running!_

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><p><p>

The game had changed.

_There's just something about you that pisses me off._

It had been two weeks since my rather abrupt return from Atlantis. Two weeks since I had piloted the _Reminiscence_ into Hogwarts and two weeks since I had fled to Australia, seeking for reasons foreign to me, a glimpse of a girl I had once loved centuries ago.

_Her name was Tessa…_ she mattered.

I didn't know how or why.

Two weeks since my battle against the Dark Lord and his demon entourage in the skies above London. The damage, even now, barely contained by the Ministry Obliviators. Two weeks since fabled, long-lost Atlantis had emerged _screaming_ from the murky depths of time, crushing Blackpool and defying all reason in daring to still exist at all.

That city should have been ash. Dust in the wind, boss, and fuck it all. I didn't know what I was going to do about that, or the millennia-old Atlanteans I had sealed away beneath a dome of impenetrable time magic, but these things had a way of sorting themselves out.

Usually with fire. Lots and lot of fire. _Because sometimes – hell, _most _times – salvation and damnation are the same thing._

Two weeks since a shard of eternity, a sliver of the Infernal Clock, had fused with my heart, granting me a strange and… terrifying… command of faux-time. Two weeks since I had lost a hand and replaced it with a mythril construct. Two weeks the Ministry had been hunting for me, bombarding me with owls and Hit-Wizard retrieval squads. I'd redirected the owls' tracking magic and the Hit-Wizards never got close.

Two weeks since Tonks had fled with Jason Arnair. I had word she had taken him to St. Mungo's and that, despite the horrendous wound that had nearly cleaved the man in half, she had saved his life.

Two weeks of the same old shit, really. It was hard to get excited about all the nonsense after so long. Yet now there was something new…

Two week since I had seen Fleur. Beautiful strawberries and fresh rainfall. The woman carrying my child.

My impossible child.

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><p><em>Stranger things have happened.<em>

_"Really?"_

_No, I guess not._

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><p><p>

September 16th, 12:24 and thirty-eight seconds, if the clock in my head was to be believed. It was a warm day, the last vestiges of a hot summer, and I walked among the people of London invisible – just a face within the crowd – along Oxford Street and into The Strand.

I wanted a passionfruit gelato for lunch. "_Gee_lato," I said aloud, to no one in particular.

The city had been devastated in the attack a fortnight ago. But, as always, the Muggles and the rest of the world were blaming the devastation on exactly what it wasn't. The Ministry had done a swift job, given their usual levels of incompetence, in clearing away the debris and modifying as many minds as they could.

There were plans for breaches of the Statutes of Secrecy of this magnitude. Plans that had, for the most part, worked. It involved modifying the _right_ minds. Muggles in the press and government, within their media and emergency services. Memory charm those with influence and the truth will die.

Even now the rain of deadly bone, alight with the flames of old Atlantis, was being called a freak meteor shower. The unnatural storm and blizzard in the heart of summer was a localised low-pressure front that had developed due to the friction of the meteors against the atmosphere.

For the most part, people were happy to believe in bullshit. Especially when the truth was so terrifying. There was no such thing as the monster under the bed, after all.

Then again, there were those who had seen the reality of that day. Despite the net of magic I had cast across the city, there were always those brave and stupid enough to see the world for what it was. But there were so many conflicting reports that even the truth, had it been widely known, would have been lost within the maelstrom.

So London was still London. As always the city would recover. Burn it to the ground, suffocate it with plague, bomb it to all hell and back, and London would survive.

I strolled in the sun, dressed in my best, smiling at everything and nothing. It had been two weeks. Already plans were underway. I was a wanted man, a fugitive of almost every magical government on the planet. Most of the last two weeks had been spent constructing a base of operations, equipped with all the scotch and fancy suits I'd need to save the world.

Of Voldemort, there had been nothing. I knew where he was. He knew that I knew where he was. But right now we were merely moving our pieces into place. He trying to understand the power gained in Atlantis, and I trying to understand all that had changed this time around.

_Fleur._ Sweet, special Fleur Delacour. She was in France, in her family home. I hoped she stayed there, safe and well. I hadn't quite worked out what I was going to say to her, but for now the extensive ward patterns and rune platforms I had placed around her property would have to suffice.

There was so much to do, and so very little time.

And this being the last time, the final toss of the dice, then the outcome – for good or for ill – had to mean something. The little details had to matter. I would need to tell my friends, my few allies, of the very nature of my existence.

The twisted, broken, sordid nature of a man cast naked against the impossible might of the Infernal Clock. A might I had now bested, that resided in my heart, for all the trouble it was worth. Who to tell?

Ron and Hermione, of course. Neville, too. They deserved to know – to choose to fight with me or run fleeing from the putrefied insanity that marred my soul. If it were me I'd run. I'd run _screaming_ into the nearest bottle of scotch.

I came to a stop alongside the road, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

How best to tell them though? How could I breach the topic at all? Any logical or reasonable explanation would disappear like steam caught in sunlight under the weight of swift disbelief, followed by desperate denial and an all-consuming grief.

It had been that way before, the few occasions I had told them of my abusive time-travel. It would be that way again, unless I could find a way to make them understand. To make them see that it had been necessary.

That all the pain and the violence, the endless suffering and the lives I had taken – time and time again – amounted to something more than a rotten pile of corpses stretching back a thousand years in my mind.

_Dark Lord Potter, they would call me…_

In the end, I guess, there was only one real way to explain it.

Only one way my friends, in their innocence, could possibly understand the sacrifice and the suffering.

I entered WH Smith's and approached the girl behind the counter. "Hey, there. That's a lovely dress. Any chance I can get half a dozen copies of the movie _Groundhog Day_, please?"

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><p><em>Nice suit, kid, but you see, it's not about redemption anymore. You long ago forfeited any right to that.<em>

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><p><strong><em><span>AN:_**_ I was going to hold off on this for another month or so, until I had a shave more free time, but as those of you who are writers will know, sometimes you just gotta fill that blank page with something. Random insanity and poor sexual innuendos usually. Heh. So yeah, review, if you please. Or not. This is just a warm up, after all. Expect big things from here on out._

_Also, check out my author profile here and **sign-up for the DLP C2**. It is a collective of amazing - read the best - stories in the fandom. Mine are there, of course, despite my obvious modesty. Seriously, join it. We're heading for #1 on the list and your support is necessary. What have you got to lose? Nothing, that's what. Yet the potential gain is significant. Nothing but quality fics, so join, damn it, **join or I'll turn this into a Harry/Draco slash fic.**_

_With soul bonding.  
><em>

_-Joe  
><em>


	2. Chapter 1: The Thirteenth Hour

_**Disclaimer:**__ Na na na na... we're livin' in the future, and none of this has happened yet._

_**A/N:** This chapter is a touch shorter than my usual fare, pulling up short at 6,000 words, but then I want you to absorb the two major scenes here. They are important, and where there chappie ends makes sense, as you'll see. Thanks for sticking with me over from Wastelands, thanks for reading and reviewing, and thanks for joining the C2 (those of you that did. I will find those that didn't, and I will exact vengeance). All the best,_

_joe_

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><p><p>

**_Harry Potter and the Heartlands of Time_**

_Chapter One – The Thirteenth Hour_

_Still the window burns_

_Time so slowly turns_

_And someone there is sighing…_

_~Metallica_

I'd been beaten to all colours of the rainbow and all seven shades of shit more times than I could honestly recall.

Despite the ordered chaos in my mind, I knew there were moments of my existence that I would never remember. A thousand little nothings, a million forgotten hours, and yet I had memories stretching back on repeat over a thousand years.

A lot of lives were the same. They all ended the same, and the deaths – however brutal or pointless they had been – all merged into one indistinct blur of agony undone by impossible time-travel. I could remember my first life particularly well now, since the Infernal Clock had done its work.

I almost felt sixteen again. I was sixteen, technically, and as far as the rest of the world was concerned, but the aches and pains of eternity do bleed through the years…

"What do you want, Chronos?" I asked. "After all you have done, all the games and deception, the lies and truths, Atlantis has returned. What could you possibly want now?"

The young man standing before me in the half-light grinned. His identical rows of teeth were perfect, his face unblemished by the ravages of time and war. Dressed to impress in a knitted suit similar to mine, his eyes caught the torch light and broken mosaics danced within his pupils. Beneath that veneer, however, a monster waited. A demon of clawed flesh and blackened skin.

"To help, Harry James Potter. I wish to help you."

"Help me?"

_Hang me, _ I thought. _And leave me swingin' for the fucking crows._

I stood at the window of my luxury suite on the top floor of the Roosevelt Hotel, New York City, overlooking Madison Avenue and 45th Street. I had Apparated in and then promptly placed more than three dozen magical ward schemes about the place, ensuring that even when I left the damned suite would never be found again by the Muggles. It was my home away from home – if I had a home – and what amounted to my secret base of operations.

I wouldn't want for anything. There was a bedroom, a kitchen, living area, en suite bathroom, and a commanding view of New York - a city I considered to be the best in the world. Luxury was an understatement, and I had no qualms at all stealing it.

If I had to run and hide, stand and fight. If I had to have a secret base of operations at all! Then I was going to do all of that – and more – in relative comfort.

"Help me," I said again, tasting the words and finding them sour. I began to cough, deep in the back of my throat. I'd had the cough a few days now.

I raised a fine crystal glass full of _Glenfiddich_ _21_ to my lips and took a long, satisfying gulp of the amber liquid. It was a spicy batch, aged well in rum casks. I had half a dozen cases stashed in the wardrobe, alongside a dozen or so Armani suits and about twelve cartons of various beers.

Relative comfort, indeed. It was the little things – scotch, mostly – that made the long hours (hours that sped by so fast, in the end) close to bearable.

All that taken into account, I wasn't at all surprised that Chronos had found me here. Chronos was... different. That wasn't a good thing.

"Do I look like I need your help?" The canyons of 45th, stretching off toward Central Park, looked almost oppressive in the fading light. Like the towering skyscrapers could simply give way at any moment. Fragile sanity was the best any of us could hope for, I guess...

"You cannot fight this war on your own."

"Why not?" I coughed again. Of all things, I was coming down with a touch of flu.

"Look how well you have done in the past, yes, yes?"

"The past is dead." To all save me. "Who are you?" I had asked that before, more than once. Chronos had told me I already knew, as we fell locked in battle through the sky above Blackpool... or what was now New Atlantis. Old Atlantis, really, slapped down on the cusp of the twenty-first century. I still didn't know what I was going to do about that.

"Hmm?" I laughed and took another finger of scotch. It burnt in the best way, warming my sore throat. "No answer, huh? Why am I not surprised? We act like we're old adversaries, you and I, and yet at best we've known each other a handful of months."

"Longer than that, Harry James Potter. Much longer."

"I remember a lot, but I don't remember that."

He looked troubled. Worried, even. I poured him a glass of my scotch. I even used the fine crystal. It tasted better in crystal. Somehow purer.

"Time... would not permit it," he eventually said, accepting the offered drink.

"Time is mine," I said, with a weight of insurmountable authority in my words. I tapped my chest, just across the silver scar delivered to me in another life by sword-wielding demons, and just above my heart, and the shard of eternity buried there. "I am why the destruction of the Infernal Clock didn't fracture the fucking universe, Chronos. Time... it exists within me now."

I had been staring without blinking at the hundreds of cars caught in traffic down below. My eyes had blurred with tears.

"That's not true," Chronos whispered. "That can't be true."

"A razor's edge," I said, chuckling, and balanced my glass on the tips of my fingers. "Always a razor's edge." The glass shook and I nearly dropped it, the precious liquid within sloshing against the sides. "If I die... Time dies with me. Now more than ever."

"You are not as important as you think, Harry Potter."

"Yes, yes I am." I sighed. "Why are you here again?"

Chronos took a sip of his drink and grimaced at the taste. Not a scotch man – there were too few of us – I'd have to get some red wine in or something. Bah, children's booze.

"To help you destroy the Dark Lord Voldemort and snatch victory from what would appear to be inevitable defeat."

"Ah, yes."

"We must quest for the Twilit Diamond, Harry."

_Harry..._ I suddenly felt like I had been here before. That this had all happened before. This room. This conversation. The scotch and the fading sunlight of a mid-September day. But I had no memory of this, not now and not ever. I would have remembered Chronos, I was sure, and I certainly would have remembered any mention of the...

"The Twilit Diamond," I said. "No, there's no such thing."

"It exists."

"Bollocks." I coughed again, the sting of it tearing at the back of my throat. More scotch should soothe the burn.

Chronos shook his head and placed his glass on the windowsill, and a hand on my shoulder. I tensed, in case he tried to tear my throat out, but there was sincerity in his eyes. After all the years, I knew honesty from malicious intent. As well as any man, I suppose, I knew when to trust chaos.

"You spent lifetimes searching for it once. You spent _lives_, Harry Potter. Precious worlds you sent screaming into the void so you could have your happy ending and Voldemort could be vanquish—"

"And I never found it." I shrugged his hand away. "Wasted time, Chronos. The Twilit Diamond is a fairytale, a myth. All those years and I found nothing more than scraps of papyrus and dust."

"It can destroy him." Chronos let those words hang in the air. "It has the power to unmake all that Lord Voldemort is, and all that he has wrought. You could end this war, once and for all, without ever raising your wand against the Dark Lord again."

"Yeah, and if snitches were sweets I could shit a pair of wings and—"

Chronos cursed. "Die alone then, Lord Harry Potter – Time's Last Fool. Die and take us all to Hell with you! Better that than to see you burn this world again."

_Why are you smiling, Chronos?_ Why try and draw me into a confrontation neither of us can win? However fucked in the head we were, the pair of us, we both had an end game. I knew what mine was – shit, I knew what Voldemort's was – yet Chronos was raw insanity strapped to a rocket. Had time done that to him?

Time had done it to me.

"Where is the Diamond then? If it exists, buddy, where is it?"

"I do not know—"

"Well fuck me, I'm surprised."

"—but the Atlanteans might!"

My fist clenched around the glass and I took a very deep, very careful, breath. If I'd been holding it in my mythril hand the crystal would have shattered. "You stay away from that city," I said, as clearly as I could. "It is sealed away for a reason, do you hear me? Until I've decided what to do with it."

Chronos fell silent at that.

"Was this your game from the very start?" I asked, disbelief colouring my tone. "Surely not. Bring Atlantis hurtling across time so you can ask wizards long dead where the magical diamond is stashed?" I laughed. "Oh, you're going to be so disappointed."

"You know nothing of me." Still smilin', boss, still oblivious... "Harry James Potter, how can you be so blind after so long?"

"Blind? No, no, Chronos, no, no." I saw the truth of the monster. "You and those like you – Saturnia, and I suppose the Orc-Mare – you stand apart of time. Of _Time_. You are not an element of the whole. You exist… merely alongside. Blind? I see you for what you are... I see nothing."

Chronos' smile faded at my words. He paled and his expression turned hostile. "Did you ever stop, Harry James Potter, did you ever take a moment away from your warmongering, and wonder why that is? Why… I exist at all?"

"Tell me." I shrugged. "Cast away the charade and lay your hand on the table, buddy. But you ain't holding a pair of mythril aces, are you?" I laughed. "No, no… the deck is stacked even against Time's fools. I guess even demonic demigods are fucked like the rest of us."

Chronos snarled – physically snarled, raw and inhuman – with rage. A split second later and he was laughing, which was somehow worse. "You don't look too well, Harry. I'd get that cough checked out."

And then he disappeared. Such is magic.

I finished my scotch and made a start on the glass he had left behind.

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><p><em>The dust of civilisations trickles through my hands like rain…<em>

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><p>The Twilit Diamond was a farce.<p>

It had to be.

I was sure of it. And yet, across all the years and all the lives there had always been a ring of invisible truth to the rumours. Legends of Atlantis had endured ten thousand years after the city had fallen, even in Muggle society, because it had been real. It had existed.

_And exists again… _

Was the Diamond the same?

Things were different this life around. Chronos had seemed honest in his desire to find the impossible truth.

No, I did not have the time to be chasing fairytales. Not again. If I had another thousand lives to spare then perhaps it would be worth the loss of one more world. A loss only I had to remember. But I didn't have a thousand lives. I'd wasted all those forgotten chances.

I couldn't waste this last toss of the dice seeking a gemstone that could supposedly bestow or steal magic itself. A diamond – _Diamond... _– of the old gods.

A mythical stone of such untold power, whether it existed or not, should stay buried, I decided. Too much potential to fuck up. Although magic was all that was holding Voldemort together. To rob the Dark Lord of that… well, it would be interesting to see how quickly he imploded.

I fell out of my thoughts and looked out again over New York City. The sun was rising to the east and all my joints felt stiff. Hell, I'd been sitting by the window all night, since Chronos' abrupt departure. It had felt like five minutes.

I started coughing, harder than ever before, and I could taste blood in the back of my throat. Damn it all, I was going to need to raid an apothecary in the not-too-distant future—

My awesome room was on fire.

Fawkes appeared before me in a blazing rain of golden sparks, wreathed within a circle of white flame. Dumbledore's familiar was the only creature – save Chronos, I had learnt last night – that could find me here in my stolen suite. The magnificent phoenix clutched a piece of folded parchment in his talons.

The bird alighted on my knee and dropped the parchment in my lap. I picked up the note and ran a hand down the phoenix's beak. It sung softly, each note a boon. To have befriended such a creature... Albus Dumbledore was a better man than I would ever be.

"'lo, Fawkes," I said. "What's all this about then?" I unfolded the note. It was written in Dumbledore's spidery, almost frail, script. "How is the old man, hmm? I was going to stop by in a day..."

Words failed me as I read the note. The ink hadn't even had time to dry on the page, a few of the letters smudged, but I read it again just to make sure I understood what they had done. What they had _dared_ to do.

I stood up – quickly – and Fawkes flapped to the windowsill with a shrill cry of annoyance. I ignored the blasted bird. My eye twitched with barely suppressed rage. The bottle of scotch on the table next to me was nearly empty – I hadn't had that much, surely – and this time I didn't bother with the crystal. I took a few healthy swigs and crushed the bottle in my hand.

The warmth of the alcohol steadied me, cleared my mind for a moment, and I took a deep breath, letting it out slow. It was time to move. I stepped across the suite to the bedroom and drew my wand.

In the mirror above the dressing table I cut a sharp figure in my suit. The look on my face would have been calm if not for the snarl I couldn't seem to put down. I was heading back to England, it seemed, sooner than planned. But there was one thing I needed first...

The heavy wardrobe doors swung open with a flick of my wand and there, on a shelf of its own, was my undeniably awesome captain's hat. A little scorched from the battle over London, a little bloody from my fistfight with Chronos...

I placed the hat on my head and nodded. I was ready. I would have to be.

If Dumbledore's message was to be believed, then the Ministry of Magic had just declared war against me.

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><p><em>Call it stupid.<em>

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><p>"Potter, stop! Please stop… <em>Take him!<em>"

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><p><em>Call it brave<em> .

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><p>"Again and again – and again and again <em>and AGAIN<em>! _FOOLS, ALL OF YOU!_"

I clapped my hands and pure Gubraithian fire – Dumbledore's everlasting trick – burst from the heavy cracks crisscrossing the marble floors. I wanted to cause a ruckus, to make sure they remembered just who they had tried to stop…

And send a message to the rest that I was not to be fucked with. Not like this.

_Green,_ I thought. _Green and red and blue_. The flames were quite beautiful, flickering across the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, licking at the heels of the recently restored Fountain of Magical Brethren and dancing within the copper pillars and golden elevator grilles. I could taste burning copper, like a mouthful of blood, and delighted in the destruction.

The crowds had fled, the Aurors were disarmed and bound at my feet. I strolled over to the fountain, dodging the flames that would burn forever more, and unzipped my fly.

"Let me guess," I said to the Aurors, relieving myself in the magical waters of that morning's breakfast scotch. "Courtroom Ten?"

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><p><em>Call it doing what was right for what may have been the wrong reasons.<em>

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><p>In a rather graceless move I sent a wave of energy hurtling towards the two Aurors standing guard outside the courtroom. The pair of them took it in the chest and slammed into the heavy closed doors, throwing them wide open and crashing against the inner walls within.<p>

I strolled right on inside amidst cries of shock and outrage, straightening the collar on my fine Armani suit, radiating an air of unquestionable authority and power.

The courtroom was packed. I was reminded of my hearing in this dungeon, under the scrutiny of Fudge and his cronies. Dark stone and dimly lit torches. That felt like a thousand lifetimes ago… and it had been. Sure enough, up on the highest benches Rufus Scrimgeour presided over the room atop of his podium, surrounded by the collective weight of the Wizengamot.

This was the first time I had met Scrimgeour in this life – the first time he had met me at all. A rangy looking man with greying hair, wire-framed spectacles and a long face. He was a man of action, or could be, and more than once he had died in my name. Died to protect me. I should have respected him for that. But what he had done today did not demand respect. Retribution, perhaps, but never respect.

The rest of the lower benches were full of witches and wizards. I recognised most of them – some Order of the Phoenix, some Death Eaters – and some I could call friends. The poorly lit room stank of dusty parchment and fear.

"Potter, Harry," I said. A gasp rippled through the crowd as I was recognised. "My invite must have gotten lost in the post."

Scrimgeour recovered first and waved the Aurors in on either side, half a dozen of one and six of the other. It didn't matter. My gaze had fallen upon the chair with the restraining chains in the centre of the room, and the person who sat gingerly upon the edge…

Fleur Delacour sat in tears, her hands cupped protectively across her stomach. Across our child. She looked at me in equal parts fear, relief, and uncertainty. I don't know which expression hurt more, or which was the most fiercely beautiful.

But that didn't matter either.

I had been furious before – upon receiving word from Dumbledore of this farce. It was why I had stormed the Ministry. But seeing Fleur now, alone and reduced to tears by the power-hungry and weak-minded sycophants of the Ministry, most of which would happily serve Voldemort when this government inevitably toppled, my fury turned to something cold.

Something narrowed, focused, and very, very dangerous.

I was no longer… _angry_. Angry was too soft of a word. There were no words for how I felt.

Here was the mother of my child. The poor, abused woman I had exposed to the awful majesty of pure Time. The Wastelands of Time. Here was Fleur, my sweetheart, alone before the rampant hate and fear of a corrupt governance machine.

"I seem to have arrived just in time." My voice sounded hollow in my ears, as if spoken from far away. Did I look as beyond anger as I felt? Something of my emotion must be showing? None of the people here would dare raise a hand against me, surely, knowing how I felt.

"Surrender your wand, Mr. Potter," Rufus Scrimgeour said, his tone demanding nothing less than obedience. "There is much you need to answer for, young man."

"Are you okay?" I asked, stepping across the dark stone floor toward Fleur.

She raised her hand, and her face begged me not to come too close. I felt something twist in my chest at that, but it was to be expected. After all that she had seen through the shards of the Infernal Clock… Sanity, at all, was a miracle.

"They 'ave asked many questions about you, 'Arry," she whispered, not quite meeting my eyes. "They say I will be sent to Azkaban for not answering."

"Do they now?" I said softly.

The Aurors had surrounded both Fleur and myself, keeping a wide perimeter but effectively sealing us in. Twelve wands were arrayed against me. I held my own pointed toward the floor.

"Your wand, Potter!" Scrimgeour growled. "Do not make this harder than it already is. You are required to submit to trial on a list of charges that—"

"List?" I said. "What list?"

Scrimgeour nodded to one of his aides. The young witch flicked quickly through a stack of documents and handed the Minister a thick sheaf of crisp parchment. "Where to start, hmm? Breaches of the statutes, illegal Apparation, portkey creation—"

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. As I did, the entire world around me slowed to a dull crawl, and a sharp lance of raw pain pierced my heart. I winced, rubbed my chest, but a grim smile settled across my face.

It had taken some practice, but I had made the shard of the Infernal Clock buried within work for me. Not always, not often. But now… I could slow down time with a mere thought – for everyone save myself. And Voldemort, of course. Our battle in the skies above London had shown that.

But the talent still had its uses, however uncontrollable it could be. I moved amongst the Aurors now, plucking their wands from their hands and pocketing them. I took my time and swiped the list of charges from the Minister's hand, before returning to my initial position and shutting off the remnant of eternity.

Time sped back up.

Fractions of a second had passed for all save me. The Aurors stumbled, taking nervous and confused steps back, and I winked up at the assembled Wizengamot, patting my pocket full of wands.

"Now let's have a read of these charges," I said, tipping my captain's hat back on my head. Uncertainty, cast better than any spell, ensured I had the room's full attention. "Hmm… quite a list. Let's start at the top and work our way down. Oh, I see. Well, guilty, guilty, guilty, _not_ guilty…" I tapped each charge as I decided my own verdict. "Guilty, guilty, oh most definitely guilty… guilty, not guilty, guilty, guilty…"

I cast the parchment aside and with a flick of my wand it burst into flames.

"You get the idea," I said. "And you can also add public urination to the list. Heh." I reached into my inner suit pocket and pulled out a slim bottle of cool, frosty _Vieux Temps_. A rather nice French Beer. I had grabbed one from the suite before Disapparting across the sea.

I popped the tab, "Cheers," and took a long swig of this fancy French beer. Fancy French beer because I'm somewhat of a flowery twat. Heineken would have been just as good, but I wanted to send a particular message, the kind that only came from top-shelf booze.

"'Arry…" Fleur sniffed. She didn't look well. "Are you mad at me? For running away?"

I blinked, near-shocked at the absurdity of her words. _Mad at you?_ "Sweetheart, I love you. Here, this will take you home." I pressed a shiny sickle into her slim, pale hand and whispered the activation word. "Be safe…" The portkey whisked her away, back to France.

Scrimgeour made an attempt to get the situation back under his control. He didn't know how I had disarmed the Aurors, but he wasn't going to let it faze him. "Right then," he said, clearing his throat. "Take a seat, Mr. Potter," as if he'd given me leave to release Fleur, "we have a lot of questions for you."

"Is that so?" I took another sip of my beer. Cameras flashed, quick-quotes quills scratched, and I resisted the urge to bring the Ministry screaming down upon the fools all around me. "I have just one for you, Minister Scrimgeour, just one…"

My presence was forbidding. My words… they could be very intimidating. I cut a striking figure, alone against the supposed might of the Ministry. No one dared interrupt me. I knew it was only a matter of time before more Aurors arrived, and I had no desire to fight them.

"I always somehow expect better of you." I turned away from the Minister of Magic. "But I guess your office and incompetence just go hand in hand… Tell me, do you think you can stop me?"

No one answered my challenge, and I started to leave.

"Potter, stop!" A side door to the dungeon-court swung open and from within, sealed beneath folds of midnight darkness, swept a wave of cold, bitter agony and the screams of my dead mother. "Seize him!"

Twin Dementors flew into the room, still under tentative Ministry control, and descended upon me – wraiths of terrible nightmare come to feast upon my soul.

_Dementors_ , I had time to think. _I hate Dementors…_ Even after all the years, all the time and all the crimes, boss, I still feared the awful things. Fear incarnate. Immortal creatures of the _Forget_, burdened for all time to harvest souls and unmake all that could be just and true.

Over those same years, I had hardened my fear into something else. Something with the weight of my impossible life thrown behind it. I let the Dementors reach me, not bothering at all with a patronus charm, and felt their effects magnified a thousand, thousand times.

I let them into my mind – let them work their horrific brand of magic. All warmth fled from my limbs, all happiness. I hadn't been that happy to begin with, but to each their own. Memories of pain and loss swam to the forefront of my consciousness. Memories to feed the beasts. I let them enjoy their last meal for a few heartbeats… then forced other memories to the surface.

Older memories.

_Powerful_ memories. Of all that I had ever been and ever would be…

I poured Time. Pure, raw time. The strength of ages, the grit of ancient worlds… The Always and the Forever flowed through my mind – through the shard of eternity buried in my heart – I unleashed a silent maelstrom upon the foul and ragged Dementors, borne under the starless midnight skies of Oblivica!

I showed them all that they were. All that they would ever be. Mere lesser demons, a spawn of a forgotten time, cast against the sheer endless bounds of the infinite.

I seized their entire being and I _turned it to dust._

* * *

><p><em>Call it what you will, but be warned. There is no going back.<em>

_Not this time._

* * *

><p>Silence.<p>

Blissful, blessed, fearful silence.

The entire courtroom regarded me in abject disbelief, just doing what people do, as they watched the two Dementors disintegrate before their eyes. One minute they were there, oppressive and bearing down on me and my shattered soul, the next…

"Dust," I whispered. My voice carried well in the silence. Across the silent crowds and into the far corners of the damned dungeon. "You touch those under my protection again… If any of you dare! And _dust_—" I growled and spittle flew from my mouth, "—is all that I'll leave of you."

Someone dropped a pin in the back of the Wizengamot benches.

"Is that a threat?" Scrimgeour found his balls.

I took a final sip from my beer and raised the bottle toward the Minister of Magic. "A threat? No…" I hurled the bottle into the base of the bastard's podium. It shattered, echoing loudly, in a most satisfying way. "It's a _fucking_ guarantee."

Then I grinned, because this had turned out rather well, all things considered. "I'll let myself out."

I turned and swept out of the courtroom, my footsteps echoing loudly against the dark stone.

No one tried to stop me.

No one dared.

* * *

><p><strong><em><span>AN:_**_ Now before I get a 1,000+ reviews/emails/flames screaming that the 'Twilit Diamond' is the biggest deus ex machina you've ever seen and that I'm a whore's son for taking the easy way out in this story and you're going to find me, gut me like a fish and dance merrily in the blood and gore to Celine Dion (true story, I once got a review like that - you see? Make them memorable, folks), have faith - on the surface it may appear like I'm stacking the deck to wrap everything up nicely, but this is me, folks - Joe. Motherfuckin' JOE. I'd never make things that simple, mostly because I still have no idea how this damn story will end, but also because I love you. I love you very much and would not take you out to Mickey-D's for dinner when you come to me in your little black dress and heels expecting to be wined and dined._

_No, no, no... although to be fair, you should've worn the fishnets, because that just works for me._

_Although I must confess a lot of you did break my heart by not **joining the DLP C2** the last time I took you out on the town. Seriously, the prologue for this story was quality - like a $500 dollar-a-head state dinner - and only a handful of you called me the next day, thanking me for a wonderful time. So this is going to be a regular thing now, where I threaten some sort of awful plot twist unless you **join the DLP C2, which can be found in my profile here. **So join, ladies and gentlemen, join or I'll turn this into a Twilight crossover... featuring MPREG. And I don't want any of ya telling me you'd actually like that to happen this time, because you are liars - all of you. No one likes Twilight.  
><em>

_All the best,_

_Motherfuckin' JOE!  
><em>


	3. Chapter 2: Elemental Destiny

_**Disclaimer:**__ Before my thoughts begin to run…_

_**A/N:**__ Sorry about the delay, folks, but some exciting things are afoot. I've finished up university and there's an announcement in the author's note at the end of this chappie that you may find awesome. Oh yes, you may. Short 4,000-word filler chapter here, but it'll do since I'm away for another month and didn't want to leave y'all hangin'._

_-Joe_

_**!Seriously, you'll want to read the author's note at the end of the chapter!**_

_****_

* * *

><p><p>

_**Harry Potter and the Heartlands of Time**_

_Chapter Two – Elemental Destiny_

…_the antithesis of anything free._

_~Sophie Dahl_

__

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><p><p>

I had no say in the first truly defiant act of my life.

Afterwards, I had cheated death. I had two dead parents that weren't as lucky. A hideous scar and the well-earned ire of a maniacal Dark Lord to see me through the next thousand years.

And what a quick thousand years it was. So many days and so many deaths. Shredded sanity was the best I could hope for, and prophecy be damned, powers of a god cast aside, it was more than I deserved.

When I was eleven, Hogwarts was an impossible weight. I rose to the challenges across the first few years, as is my way, making friends and enemies and watching the resurrection of the Dark Lord Voldemort. A man of fate, as much as I, destined to lead one way or another.

Which, given his beliefs, could not be allowed to happen.

So they asked me to save the world. To rise on the wings of prophecy and cast the menace of dark magic howling back into the abyss. They asked me to save the world…

They should have asked me if I liked the world the way it is.

You see, if Voldemort's first attempt on my life taught me anything, it was that there _is_ only power, and those too weak to seek it. He was right about that. He was _right_.

I promised myself a long time ago, as the blood drained from my wrists under the twilit sky of a foreign, _Forget_ful, world and a demonic water sprite granted me eternity, I promised myself that _when_ I destroyed the Dark Lord Voldemort I would not rest until the Ministry and the world that had let him rise unchecked crumbled beneath my rage.

They asked me to save the world.

I promised to remake it. Not their way. Not Voldemort's way.

_My way._

__

* * *

><p><p>

_Well, well, look at you._

_Always did look younger than you were. But the eyes give you away, Harry Potter._

"_How so?"_

_Because they're dead, son, and lost in chaos. You have the look of man who knows how fragile civilisation truly is, because you've seen it come crashing down around you…_

__

* * *

><p><p>

From that farce of an inquisition at the Ministry I Apparated south. Way down south. Almost to where south became north again.

My fury simmered. I had barely been able to contain my rage at what they had done to Fleur. Summoned her under threat of prosecution, badgered her with questions concerning my whereabouts… _a pregnant woman!_ They had no right. Lawmakers or no, they had no right on any level.

I laughed. Oh fuck, I laughed.

It was a sad day when _I_ held the moral fucking high ground. I had no claim to that, but at least I knew it. The arrogance. The sheer blind arrogance of it all! Even after a thousand years it could still surprise me.

The Ross Ice Shelf in Antarctica was cold and dark this time of year. Very cold. Very dark. Over half a million kilometres of frozen wasteland, bathed in the dim light of a trillion stars—_pinpricks of forever, boss, dig it or not_—overhead. A cool breeze, a merciless wind chill, almost blew the awesome cap from my head.

If not for the heating charms, my breath would have frozen in my lungs, given that I was wearing nothing more than a snappy suit.

It was beautiful here. Deadly, lifeless, yet beautiful. A thick plate of ice, silent as the grave, simply floating atop of the ocean. What made this particular shelf special was that it was about the size of France.

Waves of wind-blown snow and frozen water, as blue as the sky, reflected the night overhead. It had been dark for a very long time here. There was nothing this far south, nothing to stand in my way, or to feed my rage.

I took a breath of the warm air created by my magic…

And cleaved the ice shelf in half.

My wand was a thin piece of chipped wood in my hand. It did not seem capable of the strength I hurled across the endless white plateau. A shimmering wave of transparent force that shattered the miles of ice like glass cast against stone.

I screamed.

I _raged_.

I bellowed at the impossible and into the oblivion above me. The magic within responded, flowing down and through that innocuous piece of holly, and began to light up the harsh environment all around me.

Brilliant waves of untamed force. Magic almost raw, like that beneath Atlantis, _bled_ from my wand in a cacophony of substantial light and sound. A rainbow of colour splashed across the landscape, cracking and liquefying the ice, sending up swirls of dark water that had been frozen for tens of thousands of years.

Orbs of chaotic strength, pulsating light, blasted up into the air like fireworks, exploding in arrays akin to a thousand bursts of mortar fire.

I was doing my best to vent the rage within. The _insanity_ that demanded I do this to a city – to the Ministry itself!

_Power enough to melt continents_, I had said once upon a time, and here was the truth of that…

Antarctica—the coldest, driest, windiest, highest and iciest place on Earth. And I was doing my best melt it. To heat it up with enough magic that the entire shelf would simply plunge into the sea!

Rays of light – as golden as the sun – burst from the orbs and whipped through the air. They took shape, brazen sparks of azure brilliance, into vast dragons of plated light. A tremendous _roar_ from the constructs split the frost shelf beneath my feet and a tumult of slush and rock-hard ice disappeared into a very dark abyss.

My rage dissipated with it, funnelled toward and into the oblivion below. I began to breathe again, low and harsh, and the light behind my eyes dimmed to nothing. Senseless, really, this destruction, but oh so satisfying.

Tons upon tons of shattered ice, pieces as thick and as long as mountains, plunged into the sea a few kilometres away. I realised I was floating on air, the ground beneath me had melted away…

The night sky shone with my twin dragons as they shimmered through the air. Deadly and violent. Crimson eyes, filled with _life_, swept across the shattered ice shelf, gushing with water down toward the ocean – water that was already beginning to freeze again.

The golden dragons roared, quieter now, and took flight across the plateau. Their radiance bathed the dark world in soft light, embers of my endless rage, and I took another breath.

I had needed that.

Needed to release some of the strain.

All was quiet again now. I coughed, tasting blood in the back of my throat, and grimaced. My hand twitched around my wand, which still thrummed with power unmatched by all save Lord Voldemort.

I missed my friends. I missed Fleur, and Tonks… and Tessa. Who was she? A beautiful girl I couldn't get off my mind. I should be thinking of Fleur, of only Fleur.

The mother of my unborn child.

But thoughts so hot they were painful plagued me.

There was more to this game than even I knew, and that was troubling. Because after a millennium of this shit I knew fucking everything.

* * *

><p><em>You know what I really want right now?<em>

_A burger. And none of that fast food shit, either. A real burger, with onion and relish, tomato and lettuce, dripping with fry sauce and topped with bacon…_

_There are times in my dark and sordid past I've let the entire world burn for a burger like that._

__

* * *

><p><p>

Baby, you're not ready – slow down.

According to the watch gifted to me by an immortal figment of _Forget_, a creature akin to Father Time, it was four minutes to twelve. Midnight in the minds of insanity, and make mine a scotch and Coke – no ice, never any ice – and I guess we'll hold the Coke, too…

That platinum pocket watch was bruised and battered, and rusting. It had struck its last chord as Atlantis forced itself across an impossible void of time and space, through maelstroms of fire and chaos – wrought about ten-thousand years before my own madness – and settled off the north-west coast of England.

That was a problem to be dealt with, in time. Given the nature of my existence, and for however long I had left to exist, time was alternatively a luxury and in short supply. I never had a fuckin' chance, not really, but we make do…

All of us, we make do.

Beneath my feet I could feel the rumble of the New York subway. It was a cool Autumn day, late in the afternoon, and the last vestiges of my summer that had taken me to Hell and back had all but disappeared from the world.

I strolled down West 59th Street, hands tucked into the pockets of my suit pants, shoulders hunched against the breeze. Alongside Central Park, I walked against most of the crowds – travellers and shoppers, all of us alone – in the greatest city in the world.

Having melted a fair slice of Antarctica two nights ago, I'd taken a day off to recuperate and plan my next move. Next _moves_. There was much to be done, and after existing for over one thousand years, now I was short of time. There was always a pattern to this part of the year – preparation for the war.

Voldemort and I were already at war, of course we were, and had been since before I was born. But the true fight, the true battles, had yet to be fought. Those were the battles that decided how much of the world we set on fire. It had to be different this time. It was different every time, but now the outcome had to change… I had to win.

And deal with Atlantis.

The Ministry.

My friends.

Fleur.

I was heading towards Columbus Circle, but veered away down 7th Ave and through an alleyway. I ended up on the corner of 58th and Broadway, outside a quaint and dusty second hand bookshop. There was magic to be found on little corners of the world like this.

A bell tinkled above the door as I let myself in. Save for the bookshop that Tessa worked at down in Australia, this was perhaps my favourite shop in the world. It was chaos and madness inside. There were shelves buried beneath the piles of books, I was sure. Books were stacked eight feet high, haphazardly, with no rhyme or reason.

There was a heady smell of pipe smoke on the air, within the dust and the dry, torn scent of old leather. An old man, as wrinkled as his wares, sat next to a defunct cash register. He nodded from behind his glasses, a dog-eared paperback in one gnarled hand, and I returned the gesture before disappearing deeper into the shop, amidst a wasteland of forgotten pages.

_Or a heartland_, I thought. An oasis in the desert of time, a recording of human endeavour compiled into a significant fire hazard, caught between one moment and the endless gulf of the next.

It was like a maze, navigating the stacks of books. Stacks that seemed to stay upright only with the power of good intention. I cut through the labyrinth and made it out to the back of the shop, along a wall strewn with leather bound tomes. I checked the local time in my head.

It was sixteen minutes past five… and twelve seconds. I took a seat on a pile of encyclopaedias and waited. I was three minutes and forty-eight seconds early. _Savin' time, boss._

At twenty past five on the dot two people snapped into existence. I tossed aside the book I'd been flipping through on how to hitchhike through the galaxy and rose to meet them, an honest smile on my face.

"Harry James Potter!" Hermione Granger said, as she shook off the portkey disorientation and narrowed her gaze against me. "_Just what in the name of Merlin have you been doing?_"

* * *

><p><em>Do you know how many good people have given their lives so you could hate yours?<em>

__

* * *

><p><p>

"Ron, Hermione… it is always great to see you," I said, and I meant it. Relief as powerful as Atlantean magic swept through me to see them alive. I had known they were alive. I had _known _it. But so many memories saw them both dead.

"You too, mate," Ron said, not completely oblivious to Hermione's ire. "Good summer?"

I nodded. "Bought a really nice bottle of scotch. Pricey stuff, but totally worth it. We'll have a glass later on tonight." I paused. "I also became an international fugitive, but the cool kind, where it's all fast cars and scotch, and I'm in the right and it's the Ministries that have it all backwards."

"We were _worried_ about you, Harry." Hermione was blushing red to her roots. Torn between the same relief I felt and furious disbelief. "All last month we heard the most terrible things about you, and with what happened over London—"

I stepped forward and kissed Hermione – briefly, barely a brush of her lips – but it silenced her concerns. Then I pulled both her and Ron into a tight embrace, almost overwhelmed by the utter _joy_ I felt at seeing my two best friends. The three of us alone and, only for the moment, safe. Safe from the world and its woes in a dusty old bookshop.

"All of that in good time," I said. "I didn't have Dumbledore whisk you away from Hogwarts just for a hug. We're going to dinner – just around the corner actually, at Columbus Circle."

"We're in New York?" Hermione seemed to take in her surroundings for the first time. Nothing but books. "New York, really? I've always wanted to visit…"

"It's a helluva town," I agreed, glancing at the rather conspicuous Hogwarts robes my friends were wearing. I drew my wand and with half a thought gave Ron a cool charcoal suit, three piece, and Hermione a simple white blouse and suit pants. "And now you're dressed for it. Let's go. I promise I'll answer any and all questions, more than you'll want to know, over dinner."

Hermione had one that just wouldn't wait. "How did you get that scar around your neck, Harry?"

"Hmm? Oh…" I raised a hand to caress the ropy tissue that stretched from ear to ear. "Ah, well, that was Voldemort. He cut my throat a week or two ago."

* * *

><p><em>I'm sure there used to be a point to this.<em>

__

* * *

><p><p>

"Rafe, party of three," I said to the waitress as we stepped across the decadent façade of the _Liza_ restaurant on the eighth floor of the building overlooking Columbus Circle and Central Park.

"Right this way." The woman smiled. "This early in the evening we've a table next to the window for you."

"Splendid." Yeah, I use the word splendid. It was a touch early for dinner, but then the restaurant was nearly deserted, which would be good for privacy. There were some troubling things to be said. We each took a side of the table and accepted a menu. "I hear you do wonderful things with Turkish bread. Can we have a plate of that to start, please?"

"Sure. Anything to drink?"

I shrugged. "Would you believe we're all twenty-one?"

The waitress laughed. "Not at all."

"Lemonade for me then. Hermione? Ron?"

"The same," Ron said and Hermione nodded.

"Great."

Once she was gone, my friends turned their intensely curious stares back at me and I sighed. Where did I start? With the time-travel? Sure, as good a place as any. Or with Fleur? No, Fleur was to be kept a secret from all… save those that already knew.

Perhaps with their deaths, their first deaths, or maybe some other point of chaos along the line… Ah bugger it, I was going to enjoy dinner first, before spilling the beans about the ends of the world, and ruining the only true friendship I've ever known.

"Harry," Hermione began.

I raised a hand, the mythril one covered with a simple leather glove, and she fell silent. "Let's eat first, because there's a lot to be said, and none of it happy. Don't want to ruin your appetite."

And so we ate. Over the next forty-five minutes we ate and talked of everything save the war, my awesome summer, and even managed a laugh or two. It felt innocent, almost too innocent, but – for me, at least – it only felt half real. I'd been here too many times before, had too many memories weighing upon my soul, to relax in fine company.

But it was kind of necessary, I guess. On some level of low regard, the simple act of dining with friends was a well of strength to me. Sometimes… well, sometimes we have to do things that are more important than saving the world. And I should write that down because it sounded cool.

Dessert was green tea ice cream with red bean gelatine. It was simply delicious but, as promised, my appetite had dwindled. I took a deep breath and put aside the half eaten treat. Hermione and Ron did the same, no doubt sensing my mood, as my gaze drifted across the table and out over the fading day, a cast of sunlight still clinging to the treetops in Central Park.

I saw a different world out there. One teetering on the brink of destruction. A world already aflame.

"It began like this," I said, gesturing to the world at large beyond the window. My voice was distant, dream-like. Interstellar in its silence and galactic in its gravity. "Or it ended like this – semantics, really, to no one but me…"

"What did, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"The cry of a terrible power," I whispered, inflecting a subtle humour into the words that was far more terrifying than simple darkness would have been. "Of Harry and Voldemort, my friends, and how we unmade the world."

I wanted to fold, but I had a killer hand, and it was time to lay the bloodied aces on the table. I told them, God save me…

I told them everything.

* * *

><p><em>Isn't it enough that your actions send gods and demons alike screaming into the abyss?<em>

_No._

__

* * *

><p><p>

"About six, seven hundred years into this game I… I kind of lost sight of anything that mattered." A bitter laugh. "I mean, after all that time, how could any of this seem important? How could it all matter when I'd seen it swept away so many times? Obviously, it couldn't."

"You became Voldemort," Hermione said, her hands shaking on the table. "Or something very similar."

I thought about that for a moment and then shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Something similar. I didn't care who lived or who died – accept _him_. That son of a bitch would never die. Atlantis ensured that. Still, I wasn't the good guy anymore, if that makes sense. I was as feared as the Dark Lord and then some…"

"And you're alright now?" Ron asked. "I mean, you've not gone bonkers, have you, mate?"

Hermione shushed him. "How did you pull yourself back, Harry?" she asked. "If you became so lost, how did you keep going?"

"Not a how, but a who…" I sighed. "Her name was Tessa."

* * *

><p><em>And I suppose pain doesn't hurt for long when it's all you can remember feeling…<em>

__

* * *

><p><p>

"The magic is… unleashed. Only unleashed isn't the right word." I shook my head. "Hermione, you probably know this, but Ron… back in World War Two, the Muggles dropped a bomb on Japan. Two, actually. Anyway, the bomb in Hiroshima…"

"Pretty powerful, I'm guessing," Ron said.

I nodded. "Hmm." Pretty. Powerful. "The bomb in Hiroshima, when it went boom, created five and a half miles of pure raw fire. Can you imagine that? One heartbeat there's nothing, save an awful, pregnant pause… and the next the entire city is on fire. It's like magic, only far more terrible, because a bomb like that is only good for one thing."

Silence from my two friends.

"Unmaking the world." I laughed, took another swig of lemonade that should have been scotch, and laughed some more. I was the only one still eating or drinking. "So if mere atoms can do that, imagine what the human soul can do when you set it on fire…"

Ron dared ask what Hermione couldn't – or wouldn't. "What can it do?"

"Turns out it can hurl you back in time about eight years… a few hundred or so times." I thought of the blinding agony, the sheer mind-numbing _pain_ that tore through my body when I arrived back at the start. It had its cost, as did everything. "Even the soul has its limits, though. Of all the times I've lived and died, and lived and died again, _this _life will count for all."

"Why?" Hermione whispered.

"Because it's my last," I said simply. "No more magical reset, no more extra lives or starting from the last checkpoint. This time counts for all and the dice will lie as they fall. It's why I'm telling you all this, why you deserve to know if you choose to do as I ask of you. I suppose, at the heart of it, this is my confession."

_The Life and Times of Harry James Potter._

"Life and crimes," I said aloud, to no one in particular, and chuckled to myself. "Oh yes, by the time I'm done… crimes, indeed, but necessary, _very_ necessary, and long overdue…"

"You're babbling, Harry." Hermione was pale, unnerved, yet her voice was tinged with concern for me. "What are you talking about?"

The restaurant had filled up in the time we had been here together. How long had that been? An hour? Two? It was time to move on, back to my stolen hotel suite. _What are you talking about?_

"I'm talking about revolution, Hermione." Yes, I guess I was – again at the heart of it – revolution was what it boiled down to. There was still some excitement in that idea, a flare of righteous adventure. "Reforging the world, my friends – not the Ministry's way, not Voldemort's or even Dumbledore's way, but _our_ way."

* * *

><p><em>Own it, Harry. Fate may have damned you, but by god you will own the cost of your game. <em>

__

* * *

><p><p>

_**A/N:**_ _Hmm, he told them. We'll see the fallout of that in the next chapter. This was just a segway kind of chapter because I'm heading away for another month and won't be able to get any writing done. Still, please review._

_HERE IS EXCITING NEWS!_

_Now, I've been in this fanfic game 7 or so years, writing and begging for reviews. So have a lot of others, some names you may recognise: __Motherfuckin' Joe (that's me), jbern, Clell, Perspicacity, Shezza, Blot, Kinsfire, Heather Sinclair, and meteroicshipyeards_.

_Well, guess what? All of us, and a few others, got together and wrote some original short stories and compiled them into an anthology – which has just been published and is available right now! Can't link it here, but check out my author profile for the full details. It is awesome and you should purchase it!_

_Purchase it (ebook available also), or I'll fuck this story up so bad it'll make 2 Girls 1 Cup look like Songs of Praise. _

_All the best and happy holidays!_

_joe_


	4. Chapter 3: Distracted Mind

_**Disclaimer:**__ This hurts more than you know…_

_**A/N:**__ Make mine a scotch and coke – and hold the coke. Hello, readers. I am back from whatever the hell it is I do when I'm not writing this story. Rest assured it is cool and there are many beautiful women, every one of them out of my league, that suffocate me with kindness and smiles of such stunning beauty—_

_This chapter would be longer, but it ends on an important point that no manner of scotch or time (Time?) can erase, God help me._

__

* * *

><p><p>

_**Harry Potter and the Heartlands of Time**_

_Chapter Three – Scriptures Of A Distracted Mind_

_To die by your side… Well, the pleasure, the privilege  
>is mine.<em>

_~The Smiths_

"You should get a healing draught for that cough, Harry," Hermione said, as she let herself out onto the balcony of my stolen hotel suite. The glass door slid closed behind her and she hugged her arms to her chest, gazing out over the noise of New York City.

Ron and I watched her in silence for a moment, seated on the fine leather sofa and sipping scotch from crystal glasses. Well, I was sipping scotch. Ron was gripping his glass hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

All in all, my revelations at dinner had gone over remarkably well. My two friends hadn't abandoned me – at least, not yet.

"She's trying to convince herself she can deal with this," I said to myself as much to Ron. "That rationality will out, and that the world still bears even a passing resemblance to a reality that matters."

Ron opened and closed his mouth a few times, searched for words, and settled on a sigh.

"But you _cannot_ rationalise the irrational, not in this or any world, and it is all irrational. Every second. Even without magic." I grinned. "That sounded clever, but it wasn't, not really… What I'm trying to say is that Hermione will deal with this her own way, and you'll need to help her, Ron. She needs you right now more than she'll ever need a thousand years of fucked-up Harry Potter."

"I'm not really dealing with this, either, mate. You've watched me die… how many times?"

I took another sip of liquid gold. The fire soothed the raw, grating mess in the back of my throat. "You're alive, Ron, and so is Hermione out there. Don't dwell on pasts you can't possibly remember – ever. They didn't happen for you, they never _really_ happened at all, if you look at time… Time… from a particular angle."

"But you remember, Harry."

"Aye, I do. More so than ever before."

Ron shuddered. "I…"

"What?"

He shook his head and stood up. "I can't look you in the eye, Harry. It's terrifying… you're terrifying."

I nodded. "Yes, yes I am." _A millennium of insane time travel will do that_. "And in the days to come, I'm going to ask a lot of you two – more than you ever thought you'd give to this war, and that's saying something, considering how many times you've died for it. Terrifying… is merely the opening act."

* * *

><p><em>Rolling rivers of truth aside, could there have been a better way? <em>

__

* * *

><p><p>

I returned Ron and Hermione to Hogwarts via portkey and left them to their thoughts and nightmares alone. After all the revelations, the truth of my sordid past, they needed time to absorb, to decide whether or not I was still worth following.

Time usually willed out, and they would follow me. I would use them up until they were spent. If this last life had to mean something, it would mean the death of my only true friendships – a price I would gladly pay – to see Voldemort in the ground.

"Ethan Rafe," Mike the bartender said, buried in the depths of old London town. "How's that bottle of _Glenfiddich 50_ treating you?"

"Afternoon, boss," I said, pulling a stool up to the bar of the _Sherlock Holmes _on Northumberland Street. "We drank that bottle dry, I'm afraid. You have another?"

"You gonna lay another ten-thousand quid on my bar?" Mike was a gruff man, shaven head and simple white shirt over a toned and muscular form. Magic or not, he had a look about him that said he'd kicked a lot of kids out of pubs in his time.

"I'm short of funds, at the moment, unfortunately, and have had to resort to thievery."

"What happened?"

I shrugged and cast my gaze along the various photos and portraits of Baker Street gracing the walls of the establishment. It was late afternoon, and there were only a handful of people in the bar. I missed Ron and Hermione, and wished I could have brought them here. To the scent of old beer and dust, to the slow static of the radio, and the atmosphere of time gone by, and time yet to happen…

"Shipwreck, would you believe."

"I wouldn't. Consider this one on the house then," Mike said, and drew me a frosty pint of _Stella Artois._

"You're a great man, Mike."

The bartender nodded and laughed. Then he frowned. "Weren't you missing half the fingers on that hand last time you were in here?"

He was staring at the black leather glove hiding my mythril construct. I had indeed only had half a hand the last time I'd visited this pub. Voldemort had severed the remains at the wrist not half an hour later. _Half and half, heh._

"It's a very convincing prosthesis." Which was the truth, for a change. "Can I ask your advice on something?"

"Can't promise it'll help."

"Even so…" _Her name was Tessa._ I was conflicted, and delaying doing something quite difficult. _Fleur, sweet Fleur Delacour._ The mother of my child. "Do you have kids, Mike?"

"A son. He turned seven on the day of the storm that set half the damn city on fire."

Storms of bone and maelstroms of dark magic, I thought. _My fault. Always my fault._ Shouldn't try and do the right thing so damn often… "I'm expecting my first in a few months… and I'm terrified."

Mike nodded and reached above his head. He dropped a bottle of _Tomatin 19_ onto the bar and poured two neat glasses of the nectar of the gods. "This," he said, "is the best scotch in the world. Congratulations, Ethan."

I felt a shiver run through me as I accepted the glass and clinked it against Mike's. "Simply put, Mike… how do I not fuck this up?"

He shrugged. "Well, you're worried, so that's a good sign. Every expectant father should be. And you _will_ fuck up, mate, we all do."

And wasn't the last _thousand_ years a testament enough to that? The last great testament to anything, given the final stakes of the game.

"You're not married, are you?" Mike asked.

"No, but I love her." _And you burned for that love, barkeep, you and your son and the whole wide world. You all burned._

"Well, if you want advice, Ethan, then I advise you to sort that out before anything else. Kid needs a father, but I reckon you're only here because you're not on speaking terms with the mother, yes?"

"We had a falling out…" I shook my head. "She saw a very dark, very ugly side of me."

The Wastelands of Time. I'll never forgive myself for that – never. A regret buried so deep in the bone that to extract it would kill me. Just one amongst enough to fill a lifetime. Or a thousand of them.

"I don't know where to go from here," I said. "What my next move should be. What matters most…" I laughed, but there was very little humour in it. "Honestly, I think I'm just procrastinating. I've a thousand things that need doing, that _need_ to be done, and none of them seem important anymore… which is insane. _Insane_, given how little time I have left."

"You've lost me there, mate."

"Is family more important than saving the world, Mike?"

* * *

><p><em>I can almost forgive myself for making her love a monster. Almost.<em>

__

* * *

><p><p>

Regrets are forever.

How many regrets can a person have?

One? Two? A few?

Enough to fill a lifetime?

Regrets are forever.

Wounds heal, bones mend, regrets are forever – regrets don't heal, they whisper and dig deep into our souls.

The sun was bright overhead. I used it to judge the time at around two, maybe closer to three, in the afternoon. More and more I was avoiding the accurate count of time in my head. It felt like cheating, and in these final days why track something that I now had very little control over?

I was kneeling in spongy grass within a luscious meadow in the south of France, surrounded by dandelions, heath, lavender and juniper. A cool breeze caught the loose dandelion bulbs on the air, fresh and light with the natural scent of summer's end. The whole scene was warm and inviting.

I moved on, rising over a crest in the meadow until my destination came into view.

I left the fields of flowers and struck upon a country road that would take me all the way to the town of Carcassonne, if I had a mind to follow it. I didn't. I had a mind towards the large manor house, coated in creeping vines, just a stone's throw away.

Fleur's garden path was dusty limestone, and I felt the gentle pull of the wards surrounding the property as I stepped into the garden. Wards I'd designed to protect her against all save the worst of my enemies, given her current condition and my responsibility. Within the garden were statues and small fountains complete with ornamental birdhouses, enclosed in a small, full hedge that kept the massive oak trees on the edge of the land at bay.

It had only been weeks for me, three, since I'd fought a demonic bone-man unleashed by Chronos in this garden. For Fleur, four months had past in the dead city of Atlantis.

Four months a tiny little life had been growing inside her.

God, that was a terrifying thought.

I approached the large ornate mahogany door and grasped the brass knocker… then paused…

Turning from the manor door, I walked along the side of the house and under the hanging eaves of old oak trees, with trunks as thick as the towers of Hogwarts, and quietly opened and closed a heavy cast-iron gate that swung silently on well-oiled hinges.

Fleur's backyard was basically an extension of the vibrant meadowlands that surrounded the whole house for miles around. Thick wavy grass had been cut into a large oval lawn, complete with various statues of men and women, of animals, with a flare for avian creatures. There was a large swimming pool, the water sparkling and blue, and a fountain in the centre propelling streams of foamy spray high into the air. A chair-swing sat on the decking, looking out to the west and what would probably almost always be an excellent sunset.

In the heart of the garden, lying upon a picnic blanket, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulder and her hands cradling her lower stomach, was Fleur Delacour.

I stepped out from under the eaves of the trees and into the warm sun. The last time I'd seen Fleur was two days ago, at that farce of an inquisition held deep beneath the Ministry. We had said only a few words to one another, she out of fear, and I out of blind anger at what they had put her through.

_To die by your side…_ I thought.

"Hello there, Fleur."

As if expecting me, Fleur opened her eyes and sighed. A mirror of the last time we had met here, three weeks for me and four months for her, she whispered, "My, my, 'Arry Potter himself. He strolls into my garden as if from a fairytale – every young girls dream, no?"

Then she smiled… or she had the last time. There were tears, now, instead. Too much _Time_ had fallen between us for something as honest as a smile.

I sat down on the grass, near the edge of her blanket, fearing to get too close less she run screaming, and let her cry. What could I say? What could I ever say? Ron and Hermione knew the truth of my existence now. They _knew_ it and were afraid. Fleur… sweet Fleur… had _seen_ it.

Crystal rose petals, the hands of the Infernal Clock, had forced her mind across a cosmos of forgotten time, across the expanse of my guilt and regret, and given her a glimpse of eternity. For a wonder, she still appeared sane.

I hadn't remained sane, not by a long shot, how had she?

Perhaps the small bump, the curve of life, straining just a touch against her blouse had something to do with it.

"Do you know what it's like to see the darkness inside someone, 'Arry?" Fleur whispered.

"Yes," I replied without hesitation. "I'm part-Voldemort."

Fleur shivered. Her sun-kissed, near-glistening skin lost some of its vibrant colour. "Yes, I saw that…" She sat up and, pausing only for a moment, leaned across the blanket and brushed my dark fringe aside. Her fingers were cool against the constant, burning pain in my infamous scar. "There is a horcrux here, yes?"

"_Oui._"

Fleur sighed and folded her legs under herself, sitting up across from me, her knees touching mine and settled her hands in her lap. "I am pregnant, 'Arry. The baby is yours, from our night in Atlantis."

I nodded. _There are no nights in Atlantis. _"I'm starting a revolution tomorrow. Going to topple governments and madmen alike. I would very much like for you to be a part of that."

I expected her to slap me. To curl her tiny hand into a fist and knock the teeth from my mouth. Or to reach for her wand and curse me with something nasty, something mean and well deserved. I wanted her to do that, to punish me and cast me away… so I could not hurt her anymore.

Fleur hugged me. Fleur hugged me and I felt the curve of her pregnant belly pressed against my fine suit, her breasts against my chest… a knife through my heart.

"I'm afraid I 'ave more important things to do." She took my hand, my real hand and not the mythril monstrosity, and placed it under her blouse on the bare skin of her stomach. "And if you were anyone else, 'Arry Potter… you would as well."

* * *

><p><em>Try and break me.<em>

__

* * *

><p><p>

"There are no words to excuse what you had to see, Fleur," I said. "But for the very little its worth, I am so truly sorry."

Fleur closed her eyes for a long moment, absorbing the sun and gently removing my hand from her baby bump. "This garden is even more beautiful in _z_e winter," she said. "I love snow." And then, in the same breath, "Tessa was a lovely girl, 'Arry. _I_ am so truly sorry that you 'ad to lose what you made with her."

"God, you saw it all, didn't you?"

She nodded, her eyes threatened tears again, but remained resolute against the sheer enormity of my past crimes. "You loved me."

"I watched you die to end a war," I said. "Who wouldn't fall in love with that?"

"And you 'ave a lot of work to do, 'Arry. Please do not waste what l_ee_tle time you 'ave in my garden."

I think, even at my best, I exist in a constant state of abhorrent and dangerous self-delusion. Delusion that everything is going to work out for the best one day… and delusion that I have ever made a godforsaken difference. To wander down these paths toward false truths threatened to bring my sanity, or lack thereof, into clarity.

But I couldn't afford to die just yet. Not with the Clock still demanding a reset. I would be ground to dust and less than dust, and the world would crumble with me.

"Who is Chronos, 'Arry?"

"Honestly? I don't know."

"And Grace was… not human, _oui?_"

I nodded. "Both she and Chronos claim to be gods – of time and chaos. As such, you can see why they have taken an interest in me. We're of a kind, I guess. As ugly as it is."

Fleur shivered. "But who are they? Where do they come from?"

I answered her question with another. "Have you ever heard of the Twilit Diamond?"

"You searched for such a thing in a few of your… lives." Her eyes grew distant, gaining a measure of how my own looked – far away and insane. She was traversing the lonely wastelands of time. "Myth, fairytale. 'Arry, you cannot afford to chase false hope this time."

"I'm not. Revolution tomorrow, remember."

* * *

><p><em>Or pizza. <em>

__

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><p><p>

From Fleur's home, I disapparated across the face of the world, through international ward platforms and anti-apparation curtains, and reappeared off the north-west coast of England, just south of where Blackpool… _used_ to be.

Atlantis, the city of myth and fairytale, stood encased inside a shimmering green dome of my own making. The entire city, some several miles across, shining and new, half submerged in the sea and half on land… sealed away inside an impenetrable bubble of magic.

It was late in the afternoon, edging toward twilight, as I inspected the dome's integrity, as well as the time-dilation field I'd placed over the town to ensure none of the ancient magical folk that had returned with the city, that had been pulled ten-thousand years across time, destroyed my shield from within.

For every second that past inside the dome, months and years would pass out here in the real world. It gave me time to deal with this problem. Although I hadn't a clue what I was going to do with the entire city…

I considered myself the Last Lord of Atlantis. The final wizard to unlock its secrets and then, when the time came, send it hurtling into the abyss deep within the Fae and Forget. I had done that not three weeks ago. But now…

Sand crunched beneath my fine leather shoes as I approached the edge of the great dome, the swash of the sea curling in and out and against the barrier encasing the city. No one and nothing could pass through the dome. And yet…

And yet.

There was something growing along the perimeter, snared along the edge of the vast magical shield. Something that didn't belong to this world.

I knelt down on my haunches, rubbing a tired hand across my stubbly jaw and muttering a few choice curses. Atlantean wildflowers, a deep bruised purple and oozing a scent akin to white roses, had burst up through the sand and were crawling up the dome.

"Well, fuck me sideways," I said, for lack of anything better to say.

The Ministry was doing all it could to keep the Muggles away from Atlantis, but they didn't even know it _was_ Atlantis. Atlantis was a myth, after all. A fairytale utopia. Their efforts amounted to the widest spread Muggle-repelling charms in history, a five-mile radius all around what used to be Blackpool. Memory charms, controlling the media, and Auror patrols. But they could only hide it for so long. Thousands of Muggles had been crushed to death here, after all.

_Another sea of blood on your hands, Harry,_ my broken mind tittered away.

And now this. Foreign flowers – foreign _magical _flowers, and who knew what else, growing out from under the city. They stretched as far as I could see away down into the water on my left and over the countryside on my right. Just a thin strip, but miles long.

Oh what to do, what to do?

_Burn it,_ the madness whispered. _Burn it all. _But there are thousands, tens of thousands, of Atlanteans under the dome. _So? They died ten-thousand years ago, Harry. You know that best of all._

Still, they live now.

_They shouldn't. You can't stop Voldemort with the power he has gained from this city. Would you unleash that power a thousand-fold? You've only got one more chance to set all to right._

Fleur, Tonks… and Tessa. They would hate me for it. That alone should make it wrong.

_Aye, it is wrong, but necessary._

There's another way. I'll think of another way.

_You'll circle closer to the flame until you have no choice but to annihilate—_

"I won't be responsible for another genocide," I said simply, and that silenced the voice, for a time.

"Well, that's good to hear."

I spun on the spot, wand in hand, and… relaxed.

"You owe me twelve galleons, Harry," Kingsley Shacklebolt said. "And I'm supposed to arrest you on sight."

"Is that so?" I nodded. Twelve galleons for the wand I'd stolen in London. "How many charges am I up to now? I've been averaging ten or twelve new ones a day, by my humble reckoning."

"Honestly, I've lost count. Are you going to come quietly?"

"Eh… no, nope."

Kingsley shrugged and put his wand away. "Dumbledore said to help you however I could. What are you doing here, son?"

"Admiring the roses. The unnatural, deadly, deadly roses. Spread the word that these flowers are pure poison, would you? Wouldn't want any Aurors picking them and dying."

The tall Auror nodded and came up alongside me, giving me careful half-looks out of the corner of his eye. He didn't trust me, not one bit, which was wise. I didn't trust myself most of the time.

"We've been burning them," he said. "But they grow back quickly. They stretch all the way around the… city."

"Atlantis," I said. "This is Atlantis, Kingsley."

Kingsley was silent a moment and then let out a heavy breath in a quick gush. "Dumbledore had said… did you do this, Harry?"

"Not intentionally." _But that's not entirely true, is it?_ "Yeah, this is my fault. I did this, I'll fix it, and live with it either way…"

"What are you going to do?"

I spent a moment kicking the sand from my shoes and buttoning up two of three buttons on my jacket, trying to look reasonably sane. Although against the backdrop of Atlantis, and with a mythril hand shining freely in the fading light… should've kept the glove on.

"Voldemort," I said, choosing my words carefully, "is going to fuck shit up like you would not believe." Not too carefully. "In a few months the Ministry will be his. He could take it now, but it's not at the top of his to-do list."

Kingsley frowned and raised his hand to his brow, no doubt nursing a headache. It was the high levels of magic running rampant through my magnificent emerald-green shield causing that. "What is at the top of his list?"

I chuckled and took a small bow.

"I see…"

"Fear not, he won't kill me that easily. But the Ministry will fall, one way or another, then the Muggle government as it becomes impossible to hide the war. Inside a year, the United Kingdom will be lawless, save for a cruel magical government under Dark Lord Dickhead's control." I whistled low under my breath. "The death toll will rise and keep rising."

"You know this?"

"I've seen it," I said. "Call it prophecy, Kingsley. You Order lot put stock in those, don't you?"

"I'm not saying I believe you, Harry, but what can we do? What are you going to do?"

"Fight as if the whole wide world was at stake." I laughed… and laughed and laughed and laughed…

And then disapparated.

* * *

><p><em>Pretty deep abyss you got there, mate. I'd hate to see what's at the bottom of it.<em>

__

* * *

><p><p>

I slept three hours that night. A personal record, and yet nothing to be proud of, I guess.

Waking up at midnight and my first thought isn't of the war, of the time travel or even of the hideous monstrosity out for my blood, Lord Voldemort.

I think of Tessa. Only of Tessa, and if that isn't love then I don't…

Of her smile, her infectious laughter and clever mind. Her kindness and beauty. I was in love with someone I could not have. Not for the usual reasons, I suppose, such as her having a boyfriend, but it hurt just the same.

It hurt enough to remind me I wasn't just the Sleeping God, as powers beyond time and space decreed, but still very much human. It hurt. How do you give up everything you want?

I've never been one for giving up.

I can't remember where I heard it, but trying to forget someone you love is like trying to remember someone you never met.

_Impossible._

Her name was Tessa. She had forgotten about me, and that was a lonely thought. Can't really blame her though, given the breadth of time between us…

And to think of Fleur in all of this. Sweet, precious Fleur Delacour. The mother of my child.

_Can you love two people, Harry?_ whispered the raw insanity in the back of my mind.

"Yes," I said aloud into the dark of my hotel suite, "but never fairly."

I sat up in bed, coughing that terrible cough, and reached across to the bedside table and the half-glass of liquid gold resting atop of it. The scotch soothed the burn in my throat and gave me a moment's respite from thinking of Tessa. God, there was more of her in my head than fucking Voldemort—

I tilted my head and frowned, sniffing the air. Something was amiss, something was out of place. _Oh, of course…_

Through the darkness and the dim lights of New York City outside my suite, a glow of deep red light fell across the room, bathing the darkness in fetid crimson colour. The colour of _burning_.

"Ah hell," I muttered, as two roiling spheres of raw crimson fire slammed into the warded plate glass, glass I had charmed to be unbreakable, of the windows and burst through as if it were mere paper.

Shards of unbreakable glass became deadly missiles and fire as hot as the sun flooded my hotel room.

* * *

><p><em>Tessa loves this world, you selfish asshole. Tessa. She sees hope where you see fire.<em>

_Be happy for her…_

__

* * *

><p><p>

_**A/N:**__ Now, the cliff-hanger here isn't as important as the paragraphs that precede it. Tessa is important, and real, and lovely. I think about her every minute of the day. _

_I'm sure you have your own Tessa, and I'm sure it hurts more than all the fire and shrapnel in the world.  
><em>

_- Joe_


	5. Chapter 4: Time's Saint

_**Disclaimer:**__ Did ya cross ya fingers when you told me you'd be true?_

_**A/N:**__ Blimey, has it been nigh on three months between updates? I think it has. Fear not, I'll see this story through. My absence is best explained by general apathy, drunken bouts of scotch-fuelled rage, and a crippled flamingo. There was also a semester from hell in there, too. Here is a badass chapter, 5,000 words, to make up for it. Read and review, ladies._

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><p><em><strong>Harry Potter and the Heartlands of Time<strong>_

_Chapter Four – Time's Saint_

_Jimmy died today. He blew his brains out into the bay._

_~Green Day, Homecoming_

* * *

><p>"<em>He asked for you, Harry Potter."<em>

_I reached out and snatched the tiny golden snitch from the air. A small amusement to pass the long hours in St. Mungo's terrible waiting room. I was surrounded by the good and the damned. Wizards and witches from across a hundred years of the old man's life._

_Outside, a thousand more kept a silent vigil for the man who had steered the world from darkness to light and back again so many times across his long, brief life. Of all those people, all those of wealth and influence, he had asked for me._

_My steps echoed loudly in the corridor as I made my way into the private room on the top floor of the hospital, and regarded Albus Dumbledore upon his deathbed._

_For a long moment that stretched into a long minute we simply stared at one another from across the expanse of the room. It was an opulent space, more akin to a hotel suite than a hospital room. _A terrible place to die, _I thought, and meant it._

_He breached the silence. "I am sorry to leave things so unfinished, my boy."_

_The words were painful to hear – and, I suspect, even more painful to say._

"_The war needs Albus Dumbledore," I said, because it was right._

"_Do not be silly." Dumbledore chuckled. A thin line of blood trickled from his nose and stained his silver moustache a final shade of crimson. "The war has Harry Potter."_

"_And that's why the _world_ needs Albus Dumbledore."_

"_War is a young man's game, Harry." He sighed. "You, at least, look the part—"_

"_But I'm well and truly time-fucked, sir."_

_He managed to chuckle. "—and sound the part."_

_A sigh of frustration escaped me. Why could I never save this one? Just this one? Let the world burn, if it must, but allow me Albus Dumbledore a few more years… Goddamn you, Tom Riddle. But then that wasn't fair, was it. Even against Voldemort. After all this time, all these lives, didn't some of the blame fall my way? Yes and yes._

"_You have done a brave thing with your life, Harry." Dumbledore began to weep. He looked _old. _He was old. But without his half-moon spectacles that age, even on his deathbed, made him _feeble_._

_Which was, perhaps, the most awful thing I have ever seen._

"_Time will decide that, I reckon." _

_From within my coat I made a bottle of old scotch appear as if by magic. It was an odd bottle, shaped of a foreign, alien glass in another world a very long time ago. Two crystal water glasses rested on the bedside table. I vanished the water._

"_That looks intriguing," Dumbledore said, and even now, as Voldemort's curse addled his brain and liquefied his organs, a flare of curiosity blazed deep within the old man's eyes._

"_Scotch from Atlantis." I handed him a glass and made a dismissive gesture. "Made with rose petals and starlight, of all things. Fairly potent stuff."_

_Dumbledore took a tentative sip and an expression of sheer joy masked the pain on his face, if only for a moment. "A good year, I take it?"_

_I shrugged. "Well, technically it's ten-thousand years old, as far as these things go… but yes, it has kept rather well. Savour it, old man."_

_We sat in silence for long minutes. Minutes of little meaning. Dumbledore was soon to die, as he always did, and yet time seemed to have died first. His breathing went from ragged, to desperate, to almost peaceful…_

"_I am going to miss you, Harry Potter," he said, with a sense of finality that was unmistakable._

_I took Dumbledore's withered hand between my own. "I'll see you soon, Professor."_

* * *

><p>As white-hot fire flooded my humble little hotel suite, I blinked and surrounded myself with dark and powerful magics. Because when it comes to dark and powerful magics, I'm just that fucking cool.<p>

The flames were like a river of molten heat, blasting apart the reinforced windows and tearing the room apart. There were demons in the flame. Fiery constructs of old Atlantean enemies.

_Fiendfyre_, I thought, as the bed was incinerated beneath me. How quaint.

Fiendfyre was mortal magic. Which meant wizards. Which meant I'd been disturbed from my sleep by a minor inconvenience. And I'm grouchy when I don't get my sleep… which was kind of always.

Encased in cool air, inside a bubble of shielded intent, the fire swallowed me whole. The lecherous demons of flame and shadow pounded and screeched against the outer shell of my shield to no avail. It was impenetrable, forged a thousand years ago, and refined across my many lives.

I could see nothing but flame. The entire world could have been ablaze.

Through that fire and heat strode the Dark Lord Voldemort.

"We meet again, Harry Potter," he said, like a rather ominous twat.

_Minor inconvenience_, I thought.I hovered in the fire, aware that my scar was burning hotter than any fiendish constructs of old Atlantis. He had found me, as he always did. There was no place in this or any world we could hide from one another. Not now and not ever. Blood, soul and time magic fused us together beyond mere realities of life or death.

"What up, Tom?"

"I've come for Atlantis, Harry." His crimson eyes almost looked alive in the reflected light of the fiendfyre. "You will release the city to me."

"You and I both know that I won't. Can't you bring it down yourself?" I grinned. "Or have I been too clever for the great and powerful Lord Voldemort?"

The Dark Lord brandished his wand. A thick, dark oily fog whispered from the tip and down the length of the wood. "The city was destroyed. You destroyed it."

"Yes. Is there a question there?"

"How can it still exist?"

I shrugged. It was oddly calming in the heart of the explosion. I did my best work surrounded by destruction. "Time," I said, as if it explained everything. I took a seat on nothing but air, composed and at ease.

"Time," Voldemort whispered. "There is an element of time magic in your shield around the city?"

"There sure is. You can't bring it down without snapping the city in half, which is why I assume you've graced me with your presence this evening."

"Stop fighting me, Harry. You have no idea what I will do to you before the end—"

I snorted. "Oh let me guess, Tom. Just let me fucking guess. Does it involve the cruciatus curse, perhaps? Pain so blinding it eclipses all reason? Bellatrix did her best in Atlantis and she couldn't break me. Or perhaps you have something old school lined up? Pull my teeth out one by one, hmm? My fingernails? Cut large chunks of my skin away and pour acid into the wounds?" I laughed. Memories of _other_ times flashed across my mind. "Because the best you have has never broken me. _Never_. Oh it could kill me, sure, but break me? Not in this or any life, Lord _fucking _Voldemort."

And there was ire to my words that could not be simple boasting or bravado. A subtle, deadly calm that spoke louder and did more damage than curses in the night.

I whispered my last, grinning like a madman and spinning my wand in slow circles… "You could transfigure my dick into a nail and hammer it into the wall before I break."

The creatures in the fire _roared_ and slammed their fierce weight against the shell of my shield. They fractured and shattered, spilling back into pure flame as red as heart's blood. A reflection of Voldemort's own anger.

"Does the power not enrage you, Harry? The thirst to _own_ it?" he asked into the silence. He spoke, of course, of the understanding we had both stolen from the Infernal Clock. The knowledge of the old world – of fabled, lost Atlantis…

"Don't give a shit, really," I said. A dark and terrible thought occurred to me. Could I show this monster the lives of another monster? Should I gift the Dark Lord with a thousand years of misery? Why not… why the fuck not?

I offered Voldemort my mythril hand; it passed through the shield easily. "Here's why. Shake the hand that shook the world, you snake-faced son of a bitch."

* * *

><p><em>This isn't the end.<em>

_I promise I'll try again._

* * *

><p>Blinding pain rippled through my scar, but I was used to that. After so long, it would feel wrong not to have the pain. My mythril construct closed around his pale, cold hand…<p>

…and we took a trip down memory fuckin' lane.

Deep within the madness and chaos there is always a kernel of truth. A light that never goes out, if we're being hopeful – and I wasn't past trying to be.

The fiery hotel room faded as a wave of magic, of crystalline light spiralled around the pair of us. And we were whisked away.

Into thought.

Into memory.

Into _Time_.

"Our whole lives," I said, "we keep nothing but thoughts and memories. And if you don't get the reference, Tom, then I'm not going to explain it."

"What is this?"

I shook my head. "Call it transcendence – or ascension. Can you feel the memories? The lives of long ago?"

The bitter taste of copper on the air – a mouth full of pennies, a heart full of vengeance…

"We are enemies, you and I." And I showed the Dark Lord for just how long that had held true. "True enemies."

Between us, images of past lives flickered by so fast that it was just a blur of colour and pure time. Sparks shot from my mind, prisms of light from beyond reality.

"You are an old man, Harry." The Dark Lord laughed. "An old man who knows how to die."

I grinned. "That's what you're taking away from this? My death count?" Absurd, and yet I wasn't surprised. "What about the sky on fire? The cities crumbling under the weight of our endless warring? The sheer bloody _end_ of the world?"

Only moments were passing in the maelstrom of magic around us, within the heat and the flame of my burning hotel suite, but years were flashing through my mind and into Voldemort's.

I gave him the highlights. Wars and battles against men and things less than men. Demons, Hellspawn and all the old, ancient evils I awoke from deep within the earth searching first for Atlantis, and then for the Twilit Diamond.

The blooper reel, really.

A thousand years condensed into thought and memory… I gave him nothing of Fleur, of Tonks or of Tessa. My friends were a source of great strength, but there is always weakness in such great strength. Best avoided.

"Fire is necessary to cleanse the world, Harry. The empire I could build from the ashes would last forever."

"Spoken like a true madman, Tom. Just stop and look – _see_." I showed him the planet scorched, oceans boiling… magic, our magic, become chaos. "This isn't a revolution, or a power grab. This is extinction. The end of the world. I know you probably don't remember much of your humanity, lost as it is in green curse light, but this war will make you emperor of _nothing_."

"Only if you stand against me, Harry. Cry off, and let me seize power uncontested."

"You really think you can make me that offer? _Me?_" I snarled, baring my teeth – a low, guttural animal sound. "I'd let the world burn another thousand _thousand_ times before letting you have anything you desire."

"Always the fool—"

"_Yes! _Yes that's right! I am a fool – a powerful, time-travelling fool – and I've spent a millennium trying to topple you. This time will count for all. So _you_ need to cry off, Tom. You need to flee. Do not test me on this."

"And what is different this time, Harry? How will you win, when time itself has shown you can do nothing but fall?"

From within the flames, and through the shield of energy and magic, floated a sphere of transparent blue light. Within the sphere was a seared and slightly tussled hat. My captain's hat. I guided it through the flame and into my shield bubble. The only thing I'd managed to save from the inferno. It settled onto my head and I released the Dark Lord's hand.

The memories-made-real faded as if they had never been – and, as far as most of reality was concerned, they honestly had never been.

"You know the truth of me now, Lord Voldemort." I spat the last, a curse and a bitter taste in my mouth. An enmity of ages. "I will tear down anything you try to build. I will kill anyone who follows you. Every step, every plan, I have seen it all before. You just got a glimpse of what I know. There is nothing you can do that I cannot anticipate."

"And yet, you die at my wand."

"Not again. This is the last reset, the last wasteland. I remember _everything_." Oh but there was so much I wish I didn't. "This time I will win."

Voldemort laughed. "I will enjoy watching you die… for the last time."

"Bring it, bitch."

There was a tremendous rush of flame – the fiendfyre reached a burning crescendo – and the top four floors of the hotel exploded in a storm of liquefied metal, stone and glass.

Both the Dark Lord Voldemort and I disappeared, leaving New York City far behind.

* * *

><p><em>You have to be better than that, Harry.<em>

* * *

><p>I reappeared some eighteen thousand kilometres away on the coast of Western Australia.<p>

Smoke rose in thin curls from my crumpled suit. The heat had bled through the shield in my suite and singed the fine fabric. I took a deep breath of cool ocean air.

It was bright and light under the midday sun in this part of the world. The sand beneath my shoes squeaked as I headed up a familiar beach path toward the shops along the coast. _Cottesloe_, I thought. _That's where I am._ I had apparated, subconsciously, away from the flames, toward Tessa. Away from Voldemort… and away from Fleur.

That made me sigh. The streets were busy, for a lazy weekday afternoon, and the sky overcast yet warm.

I had met Tessa so many lives ago just along this coast. Up the road at her bookshop.

Tessa worked as a barista at the bookshop. She could brew a shot of espresso to near-perfection, complete with a dark reddish-brown _crema_ in under twenty-five seconds. How to describe Tessa fairly? Or at all? Near-perfection comes pretty close, actually. To me, there was nothing _near_ about it.

"You're having a cookie with this," she told me the first time we spoke, slipping me a shot of burnished gold across the counter. It was near-midnight, and I was suffering a helluva lot of pain from my scar. Pain where every minute is an hour and every hour a blinding headache. "You look like you need a cookie."

There was nothing but kindness in her eyes. No demonic soul or magical malady affecting her beauty. Nothing biting her neck and feasting upon her life force. That alone was worth a tired smile, but an unexpected cookie drew an honest laugh from me.

"Are they good cookies?" asked Harry James Potter, thousand-year-old Wizard, Time Warrior, and Last High Lord and King of Atlantis.

"Of course," Tessa said, utterly serious as she removed a gooey chocolate chip treat from the microwave and slid it across the counter. She winked. "There's even a magic wish inside this one."

"A wish?" I raised a sceptical eyebrow at the baked good. The aroma of the cookie was warm and delicious. "Bit late for wishes, isn't it?"

Tessa Quinlan had smiled at me and said, "Not at all. Four minutes to midnight is the only time of the day wishes can come true. Take a bite..." her eyes flickered to mine and promised _everything_, "...and see for yourself."

I did just that, thinking of her smile.

My wish did come true.

God save me, but she would not have died so many times if it hadn't.

And now here I was again – bruised, battered, beaten – walking down the same street in the same town in the same old way… toward that same girl. Did I really hate her that much? Best to stay away, wasn't it?

All the old mistakes in brand new ways. Ladies and gentlemen, a round of applause for Harry 'Déjà vu' Potter – it's only taken him a thousand lives and an ocean of churning blood to see the light. No, I did not believe that. _Could not_ believe that.

But what would Tessa think of me now? As dishevelled and burnt as I was, with naught to my name but an awesome captain's hat?

I stopped in the middle of the street and laughed.

Screamed.

Hanging on every single word and every single moment here… The last tendrils of New York smoke drifted from the shoulder pads of my suit and disappeared into the bright, innocent, Australian air.

Jesus Christ.

* * *

><p>"<em>You have accused me of practicing Dark magic. You have accused me of murder, of treason and war against this Ministry. I accuse<em> you_ of being woefully ignorant. You know nothing of my crimes – nothing! I am guilty of all your accusations and much, _much_ worse." _

* * *

><p>A whole world of trouble.<p>

Yes, I suppose it was.

Was it a mistake to gift Voldemort with the truth of me? The sordid, sexy truth of my thousand-year existence? Oh probably.

But something had to give.

Something had to change, and in my favour.

I could not rely on his overconfidence in this matter… but his ego? Again, probably. After fighting so hard and for so long, something had to change. More than it already had. After all, I was slated to lose this fight – as I had always done – and with my body so time-fucked and the Infernal Clock severed at the roots…

There was no going back.

Onwards because onwards. One life to live.

Yeehaw...

I had left Tessa well and truly alone and apparated back across the face of the world – to France. It was night when I arrived in the wild lavender fields of Provence, and I spent the warm evening under the stars, waiting for dawn.

Dawn broke, as it always did, and thin, strong beams of sunlight pierced the eastern horizon, casting the purple fields into stark, ethereal contrast. I had not slept for one minute, but there was an almost-peace here. An almost-forgetfulness that was to be savoured.

_Tick-tick._

I wanted to go and see Fleur.

_Tick-tick._

Carcassonne, her hometown, lay not five miles to the west along the Canal du Midi. Her family manor only a mile or two beyond that. I could get breakfast, a new suit, and see the mother of my child.

A slow, careful smile—_Tick-tick—_what the hell was _tick-tick_ing?

I reached into my jacket and removed the old broken pocket watch that Father Time had given me in the Fae and Forget beneath Atlantis.

_"You don't understand," Time said. "But you will. The gods of old were never born, they were forged – through time and through circumstance, they were forged from the remnants of the past. Once you remember all you have forgotten…" He reached into his robes and removed a tarnished little item. "This is for you."_

It had stopped working at four minutes to midnight, cracked and the face shattered. Time had said I would die when that happened. Instead I had lived, and Atlantis, a city I had well and truly _annihilated_, came spinning through the void – alive and well – on top of Blackpool.

Now it was tick-ticking again. The hands were moving. Backwards.

What the hell could that possibly mean?

The morning air was cool, heady with lavender, and broken by my short, mirthless chuckle. I started, only just realising I had been laughing the entire time. Merlin save me, but I was wrecked… in the head.

I dug a little trench in the dirt beneath the lavender and buried the broken-yet-not clock. No reason to keep it – none at all. This was the last hand, and the cards had been dealt. I was no longer on Time's watch.

And that sounded cool, but I was more than a little afraid. I took a deep breath and apparated to the outskirts of Carcassonne, to breakfast, and soon to Fleur. There was no sense dwelling on the past, after all.

* * *

><p><em>Someone should stop me.<em>

* * *

><p>I found Fleur as I always did – basking in the sun on a picnic blanket in her back garden. There was a touch of fate about that, I was sure, but not a fate I wanted to fight. Beautiful, sweet Fleur Delacour resplendent in the afternoon sun.<p>

"I missed you, so here I am," I said, sitting down on the edge of the blanket.

Fleur had not been surprised at my arrival. She closed the book she had been reading and glanced over her shoulder, back at the manor house.

"My father is home, 'Arry. He would not be glad to see you."

"No, I expect not." I was still wanted for murder. "Does your family know…?"

"About our baby? _Non_. I 'ave told no one, save you."

I nodded. "For the best – for now."

Fleur fell silent. She stretched one of her thin, perfect legs out from underneath her and stroked my knee with her foot. Her toenails were painted an amazingly bright red. I could have stayed like that for hours, watched the sun go down with a woman I loved. She should hate me. I hated me.

But it was not meant to be.

A marvellous golden phoenix appeared in a sphere of flame and alighted upon my shoulder. "Hello, Fawkes."

The bird cried once – short and sharp – a note of urgent desperation in his tone. I frowned and accepted the note clutched between his talons. It was from Dumbledore, of course.

_Harry,_

_You must attend Hogwarts at once. Hagrid's cabin._

_-AD_

"From Albus Dumbledore," I said. "I guess I have to go, Fleur. That was short and sweet. Not even five minutes."

"Where are you going?"

"To Hogwarts."

Fleur hesitated only briefly. "Take me with you."

"Not a chance. You are safe here – as safe as I can make you."

"We need to talk, 'Arry, and I will not 'ave you disappearing to war or worse until we 'ave done so." Her accent was thick and strong – she was becoming angry.

I grinned. "Of course. Hogwarts is just as safe, I suppose. May I take your hand?"

Fleur nodded. We disapparated north, to Scotland – to Hoggy-woggy-Hogwarts – and whatever urgent matter had Dumbledore worried.

We reappeared outside of Hagrid's cabin in his absurd yet endearing vegetable patch. The rickety fence encased a pumpkin the size of a minivan. It was bright and sunny—

No, no it wasn't. But it should have been.

The world was cloaked in a thick, stagnant fog. I could just make out Hagrid's cabin away to our left. The sun was a pale ball high overhead, unable to penetrate the cold, false air. Something… was amiss.

On the threshold of Hagrid's cabin stood Albus Dumbledore, his hands clasped before him – good one over the bad. He looked old. Alive, but old. His eyes were sparkling with tears.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

"Headmaster," I said, closing the brief distance between the enormous pumpkin and the cabin. "You know Fleur Delacour."

"How lovely to see you again, my dear." Dumbledore doffed his wizard's cap. "I only wish it were under kinder circumstances."

"Professor Dumbledore." Fleur curtsied. "I hope you are well."

"Yes, your letter seemed urgent." I shrugged my jacket closer around my shoulders. The fog was cold. "Is Hagrid okay? There's something off about this fog."

"Hagrid is in the forest... seeing just how far the damage has reached."

"Damage?"

Dumbledore clasped his curse-free hand on my shoulder. "You died, Harry," he said. "You have died so many times."

Now I was feeling somewhat uncomfortable. I shrugged his hand away. "Not this time. Not yet. Fleur knows everything, by the way." How I wish she didn't. "Everything. Now what is this about?"

"There is something… troubling… in the fog," the Headmaster said.

I drew my wand. "Dangerous, demonic, or Dark Lord?"

"You best see for yourself."

"Okey… dokey."

Dumbledore sighed a terrible sigh – the kind of sound only the dying can make – and stepped down out of Hagrid's cabin and set off across the grounds towards the lake. The fog closed in around him on all sides.

Fleur slipped her hand into mine and squeezed. She was frightened. I was angry.

The mist swirled and rose from the ground in thick tendrils, as if it were alive, blocking out the sun and casting a dull shroud across the world. All was silent. Too silent. The air was chilled, painful to breathe.

"'Arry…"

"I know, sweetheart. Stay close."

We followed Dumbledore. He hadn't gone far, not even thirty feet. He stood, shoulders slumped, staring down at the dirt. There was something at his feet. Obscured by fog, a ragged shape was splayed out before him. I knew what it was even before Dumbledore cleared away some of the fog with his wand and revealed the truth.

It was a corpse.

Fleur gasped as we drew level with Dumbledore. Her grip on my hand tightened until it was painful, and then fell slack.

"'Arry," she said. "My god—?"

"Huh," I said, kneeling down on my haunches to inspect the body. I was more surprised than anything. The face was coated in blood, the eyes long dead. It was a young man. His chest had been torn open – from the inside – as if his heart had exploded.

"There is more," Dumbledore said. His voice broke a dread silence that had settled in the air.

Bracing ourselves now, Fleur and I followed Dumbledore on towards the lake. The terrain slumped and then crested into a small hill that I knew overlooked the area quite spectacularly. If not for the fog, we'd have a panoramic view of the entire castle and her grounds.

There were three, four, five more bodies scattered across the dew-soaked grass as we climbed the hill. All of them miserably, painfully dead – horrific grimaces marred what remained of their faces.

"How many?" I asked Dumbledore as we reached the top of the hill. The fog seemed thickest here, hiding all but the nearest few feet. We could have been on an island in the middle of nowhere. "Where did they come from?"

"I…" Dumbledore shook his head. "I do not know. The fog rolled in this morning, and then… Is this Voldemort's doing, Harry?"

"Doesn't quite feel like his style, no." Chronos, perhaps? That didn't feel right either. "Right then. Let's get a better look, shall we." I raised my wand and tapped my real hand, muttering minor incantations and concentrating on the magic. A golden aura of sparkly weather-magic encased my fist. "That'll do."

I waved my hand back and forth through the air slowly, as if through water, and the fog began to clear across the wide expanse of the castle grounds.

Slowly but surely the mist dissipated. The warm sun, carrying the first light of summer, blazed magnificently through the murkiness. It lit the world in all its terrible splendour.

It lit the truth, and even I wished it hadn't.

There were thousands – _tens of thousands_ – of corpses littering the grounds of Hogwarts.

Strewn along the shoreline, bobbing in an unbroken mass across the surface of the lake itself. Piled haphazardly and carpeting the open grassed areas, as well as the driveway leading up to the Entrance Hall. Slumped up against the walls of the castle, broken and bleeding. Disappearing away into the forbidden forest…

A massacre? No.

All of these bodies – burnt, decaying, drowned, shot, stabbed, disembowelled and so many other memorable deaths – were _long dead._

I knew each and every one of them. Fleur's hands flew to her mouth to stifle a terrible, pain-filled moan. She fell to her knees as I began to laugh.

"'Arry…" Fleur whispered, sobbing. "No. Please…"

"Yes," I said, stifling my chuckles. God, I couldn't even _fake_ sanity anymore. "Oh yes, sweetheart."

I had lived a thousand years. Across that time I had died ten thousand deaths. Here was the price of that.

I knew each and every one of these corpses because each and every one of them belonged to me.

From the jet-black hair to the lifeless emerald-green eyes, Harry Potter lay dead and defeated against the majestic, picturesque grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**__ Well that was morbid…ly awesome. Where to from here, hmm? Had to get Harry back to Hogwarts somehow. Heh. Certainly entertaining, yes? Throw your theories, questions, and concerns at me in a review! Already working on the next chapter, so there's that._

_**Joe's Fic Recommendation**__: Hmm… Go and read _Renegade Cause, by Silens Cursor_ – it's a well-written Harry-turned-badass story. Where I make most of this stuff up as I go along and distract you quite often with epic action and loud noises, Silens actually puts some thought and intrigue into his story – yeah, I know, weird. Go read and review it._

_Bow-chicka-bow-wow,_

_Joe the Loyal and Enormous. _


	6. Chapter 5: Home

_**Disclaimer:**__ There's a drought at the fountain of youth…_

_**A/N:**__ Two chapters inside a month? I'm too good to you. This chappie has some good stuff, some poignant and important stuff, and serves as a segway into much more important stuff – and some long overdure 'splainin in chapters yet to be._

_Read and review!_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Harry Potter and the Heartlands of Time<strong>_

_Chapter Five – Home_

_"I have noticed even people who claim everything is predestined, and that we can do nothing to change it, look before they cross the road."_

_~ Stephen Hawking_

Well. This was new.

I felt a touch embarrassed looking out over the grounds at my army of defeated corpses. It certainly put things in a stark, brutal perspective.

I had spent a thousand years _failing_.

The evidence of that lay rotting in the sun before me.

"Have we missed lunch up at the castle?" I asked into the silence. "I'm _dead_ certain it's apple pie day. Heh. See what I did there?"

Dumbledore and Fleur failed to see the humour.

"Come on, people, it's not as if anyone's died." Well, not really.

"Harry, this is terrible. Do you not see what I see?"

I grinned and clapped Dumbledore on the shoulder. "Of corpse, I do. Ha."

"Stop it," Fleur whispered. I stopped.

"Please, Harry. Who could have done this?"

There were a few likely candidates, and yet I got the feeling Voldemort and Chronos may be innocent of this atrocity. Saturnia? Her agenda was cloaked in so many layers that it was hard to gauge just which side she was on—if any save her own. I felt a twitch under my arm where she had stabbed me some weeks ago.

I had to shake my head. "I want to say Voldemort, especially since he knows about my time-travelling antics now, but there's a piece of the puzzle missing. I can feel it."

"Probably nothing of _grave_ importance," Chronos said, stepping up behind us on the crest of our hill by the lake. He was weeping, gazing out at the field of dead Harry Potters with something akin to misery, even loss, in his eyes.

Dumbledore took a step back, his grip tightening around the Elder Wand.

"Why am I not surprised to see you, hmm? Allow me to introduce Chronos, Professor," I said. "He's… well, not a friend. Sometimes an enemy."

Chronos turned to Dumbledore and offered the old man his hand. "Albus Dumbledore. I have heard nothing but good things."

"A pleasure, my boy," Dumbledore said, ever the optimist. "May I ask just what you are?"

Chronos sniffed and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his fine suit. "No, no you may not."

"You are not human." It wasn't a question. Dumbledore's eyes sparkled but they were cold… careful. He was not a man to take lightly, whether you were a thousand years old, an immortal time god, or somewhere in between.

Chronos shrugged. "I used to be, a long time ago. Right, Harry?"

"I've no idea."

"Oh… well you'll figure it out eventually." He sighed. "Miss Delacour, you look radiant."

Fleur looked ill. All the colour had drained from her cheeks. She swallowed once. Twice. "Stop making light of _z_is, 'Arry. Please." She looked so sad. Her gaze swept the horrific grounds once more. "Is _ee_t real?"

Now I was no judge of emotion. Especially when it came to woman. But I got the feeling Fleur was more than a touch distressed. I put my arm around her shoulders, rested my real hand on the slight bulge of her belly, and held her close. She let herself be held.

"It _was_ real," I said. "Long ago and once upon a time. Those bodies, all of them, died in timelines that don't exist. Not anymore." I whispered the last. "Hey, come on, you know it. You've seen it. This timeline, this world, is all that's real now. I'm here and I'm okay."

"But you had to die for it to be real," Chronos said, not helping. "All of those bodies… lived and died as Harry James Potter, yes, yes. You remember each death."

I frowned, directing my considerable ire toward the demigod. "Have you come to claim responsibility? If not, then perhaps you should leave."

"No, I did not do this. But I have a theory, if you'd like to hear it."

"I'm taking Fleur home—"

"I would like to hear it," Dumbledore said gently.

Chronos inclined his head. "As you wish, Headmaster. This is Harry's last roll of the dice, yes, yes. His last chance to defeat the dastardly Dark Lord Voldemort and save the day. Time… Time may have caught up with him, after so many years and so many lives nipping at his heels."

"I am not sure I understand." Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "You are suggesting these bodies were following Harry through his unfortunate time loop?"

"No. Yes." Chronos chuckled. "I'm not sure you are capable of understanding it, sir. You fail to see time as Harry and I do… even Miss Delacour may suffer to grasp it, and she was submerged in what Harry aptly calls the Wastelands of Time."

"Do try and explain it anyway."

"These bodies are the only remnants of all those lives Harry fought and died in. His deal with the devil, forged in the lost Infernal Clock, demanded the clock reset eight years upon the very instant of his death – forcing his soul across time and reality into his younger self." Chronos waved his hand across the expanse of the lake, across the thousands of bobbing, bloated corpses floating on its surface. "But what of those other lives, in that very last instant before Harry's reset came into effect…?"

"You are suggesting that echoes of Harry's past lives have followed him across time, across the thousand or so years he has been doing this, and arrived here? Today?" Dumbledore frowned. "Because this is, as you say, his last roll of the dice?"

Chronos kicked a clod of grass down the hill. "No. And yes. Just a theory." He shrugged.

"Then I've no one to blame but myself," I said. "Tens of thousands of my decimated corpses come spinning out of the void… why here? Why Hogwarts?"

A desperate sob escaped Fleur. She leaned in and kissed me on the corner of my mouth. "Oh, 'Arry. Sweet, sweet, 'Arry. You were coming home." She shivered against me, and looked out once again at the ocean of corpses. "All of you… just wanted to come home."

* * *

><p><em>I've seen a lot of things. I've seen creatures – men among them – without a soul.<em>

_It is my role in this world to end such creatures._

* * *

><p>"I guess I'm going to have to clean this mess up," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. With the fog dispersed, the sun was shining down hot and warm. "Before an ungodly stink chokes the castle. I take it all the students are still inside, Headmaster? Ron and Hermione?"<p>

"Confined to their dormitories," Dumbledore said. "Until further notice. The older students are keeping the younger years away from the windows."

I nodded. "Good. That's good. No one should see this."

"How long will you need?" Dumbledore asked.

There was a literal sea of my dead and decaying bodies scattered across the grounds. Thousands upon thousands. How far had they appeared into the Forbidden Forest? Hagrid was investigating that. My awesome magical prowess would simplify things somewhat.

"Some hours, maybe as much as a day." I shook my head. "A day I'll have to spare, I guess. The Ministry will probably interfere, if they know where I am. Kinda hard to miss me here."

"I'll help you," Chronos said. He looked a bit sick at the prospect, but there was laughter dancing in his eyes. Always two sides to the man – or whatever he was.

"What are you going to do?" Fleur whispered.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Not sure, but it's probably going to involve lots and lots of fire."

"You do not think we should bury…?"

I hated that idea. "No, I don't. And you won't be helping, sweetheart. I would like you to head into the castle, speak to my friends, and let them know I'm okay. Stay inside. Have some apple pie."

Fleur didn't argue. She looked, if anything, grateful.

"I can assist, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"I'd rather you didn't," I said. My tone brooked no argument. A gust of wind blew in across the lake. I could smell old blood. "This is my mess. Always my mess. I'll fix it."

Dumbledore stared at me for a long moment, and then nodded. "As you wish."

The four of us stood in silence atop of our hill for several minutes. After a time, Dumbledore offered Fleur his arm and she took it. Without another word the two of them headed toward the castle. It would take them some time, navigating a path through the dead. I thought about apparating them to the Entrance Hall, seeing as how mere anti-apparation wards could not stop me, but didn't want to break the silence.

Wind whistled through the trees, rustling the leaves, in the forest. Hundreds of dead eyes stared at me in what felt like accusation. I licked my lips, tasting the air. Could I ever have a life with Fleur after this? After all of it? Did I want to? An image of Tessa swam through my mind… Didn't I deserve a semblance of a normal life after all I had sacrificed?

Maybe yes, maybe no…

"I've thought of another pun," Chronos said. "You're gonna _die_ laughing when you hear it."

I snorted. "Shut up and let's get this gruesome business over with."

"Yes, boss." Chronos's grin faded as he surveyed the work to be done. "This is truly awful, Harry."

"Yes, yes," I agreed. "Come on, I'm _dying_ to get started."

_Badum-ching..._

* * *

><p>'<em>It was worth it.'<em>

_Should probably carve that into my tombstone._

* * *

><p>"This war will be the biggest catastrophe in the history of mankind. Tens of millions dead, entire swaths of the earth rendered uninhabitable, and all because—" I had to stop and lean over, wracked with vicious coughs. My throat was raw and bloody. Long weeks I'd had this damn cough.<p>

"Because?" Chronos prompted, levitating another Potter-corpse on to the pile. His magic was wandless – more akin to sorcery.

I took a deep breath, grimacing at the pain in the back of my mouth. "Ugh… Because I can only figure out ten of the eleven secret herbs and spices. Why do you think?"

A whole slew of bodies levitated through the air and on to our latest pile down by the lake. My magic was doing the work for me. Behind us were smaller piles of… ash. Ash in the wind. We had burned over twelve thousand bodies so far. In fire so hot it left nothing but white, smouldering dust.

"Paprika?" Chronos mused. "Chilli powder and oregano, most likely."

"Oh that's obvious," I said with open disdain. I clicked my fingers and a spark of magical fire sprung to life above my mythril hand. Not quite sorcery. It swirled through my fingers, reflected in the shiny metal of another world. "I'm thinking it has to be something unexpected. Like safflower, or lemongrass. Cloves. Mayhap a teaspoon of marjoram."

"A thousand years of hot'n'spicy and the best you got is marjoram?"

I snorted. "Work in progress, sunshine. Work in progress."

"Yes, well, if you don't figure it out then very soon the atmosphere on Venus will be more hospitable than the one above us." Chronos sighed and looked up into the burnt azure sky. Twilight fading to true night.

"I tried to apparate to Venus once." Now _that_ was a memorable death.

I clenched my mythril hand around the sphere of fire and the flames burst between my fingers. With a sigh, I flicked the magical energy into the pile of corpses. It took to flesh like flies to shit.

And we moved on to the next pile, corpses in their hundreds silently floating across the grounds to the lake's edge. Gruesome – a nightmare made real. It made me chuckle.

"You don't want to kill me today?" I asked Chronos. "I've been expecting you to spring a trap all the live long day."

"Not in the mood," Chronos mumbled. He wiped a few flecks of ash from his suit. "I'll get you tomorrow, yes, yes."

Hogwarts looked magnificent in the fading light. The mythril bricks I'd used to reconstruct the castle after crashing the _Reminiscence_ into her at twice the speed of sound caught the sun and burned with a gentle afterglow. If not for the stench of burning flesh, the scene would have been most beautiful.

"You want to go get a steak and scotch at the Three Broomsticks and come back to this later?"

Chronos nodded. "Okay. But I have one question."

"Oh?"

"What in the seven hells is marjoram?"

* * *

><p><em>Thinking about that low road.<em>

* * *

><p>It took fourteen hours to collect and burn somewhere in the region of twenty-two thousand of my lost lives. Chronos and I had spent the day, the best part of the evening, and as midnight crept towards one in the morning, I declared the task done.<p>

A horrible, miserable – grisly – task. Good god, some _twenty-two thousand_! I'd lived just over a thousand years, which meant I'd averaged twenty-two deaths a year since the whole sordid business began… all that time ago.

The Ministry, bless their incompetent hearts, found me just as we were finishing the clean up. I suspected Dumbledore may have been keeping them away, as best he could, but our little foray into Hogsmeade had not gone unnoticed.

The wind had scattered ash across the grounds, and in the starlight it looked like fresh snow – not the waste of my worst mistakes. A dozen wavering lights marched with purpose up to the castle along the driveway. Wand light, flickering dark shadows against crimson Auror robes.

Within the group strode Rufus Scrimgeour, a permanent scowl etched into his face. He could be a good man, when he chose to be.

"I think I should take my leave now, Harry Potter," Chronos said. "I… thank you for dinner. It was a pleasant moment of calm within the storm."

"That it was." I could just apparate away and leave the Ministry to its own… No. "One of these days, before we kill each other, you need to tell me who you are."

"Time will tell, Harry Potter."

I lifted my glasses and rubbed my eyes. "Time… yeah, it always does. So long as you're not me from the future or something."

Chronos laughed. "No, I am most certainly not."

"Good."

The demigod who had spent the day burning corpses disappeared, faded, like so much ash into the wind, leaving me on my own under the cool night sky. The Minister and his Auror guard were still minutes away from the castle. Best to meet them at my leisure.

I Apparated into the Great Hall, through the complex and restricted wards of the castle, and took a seat at the Head Table.

It was cold and lonely at this hour of the morning, and yet I wasn't alone.

Fleur Delacour sat at the Gryffindor table, staring up at the enchanted ceiling. She had one hand on her stomach, slowly stroking the small life within, singing softly under her breath.

Her gaze turned from the roof to me as I appeared. She smiled – warmly – and I went to join her.

"What are you still doing awake?" I asked, taking a seat opposite the most beautiful woman in the world.

"I knew you would be here," she said, and pushed a plate across the old oak table toward me. "I saved _z_is for you."

It was a piece of apple pie.

"Your suit i_z_ all sooty, 'Arry. Did you… did you finish your work?"

I nodded. There was always a heap of sugar on the crust of these pies. I scooped some up with a finger and touched my tongue. Sweet. "I love you, Fleur."

"_Oui_, I know." She reached across the table and placed her hand over mine. Her touch was warm. I hid my mythril hand under the table. "_Je t'aime_, 'Arry Potter, but I… I am so afraid."

The Minister and his entourage would not be far away. The doors of the Great Hall were wide open. They wouldn't fail to see us here.

"Of the war?"

She nodded. Her eyes reflected the enchanted stars above, wet with tears. "Of the damage you could do, _oui_. I fear for our child." Fleur laughed – possibly the saddest, most hopeless sound in the world. "We are too young for _z_is."

"Well… you are."

Fleur sniffed and dabbed her cheeks with her sleeve. "In all your stolen years you 'ave never raised a child, 'Arry. You may know of war and of pain, but in this you are even younger than I."

"I promise to keep you safe."

Fleur pulled her hand away. "Although I do not remember _ee_t, I believe you 'ave made that promise before."

Ouch. That hurt. Hurt more than twenty-two thousand deaths. Curses could make me bleed, swords and knives could cut me, but Fleur scored a deeper wound with such simple words…

Regrets are forever, after all. Death is easy – living with mistakes, not so much.

I stood up, leaned across the table, and got close enough to Fleur to rest my forehead against hers. Her scent was maddening, as always, strawberries and fresh rainfall. Her breath was warm on my face.

_May I?_

"Kiss me?"

_Yes, you may…_

Fleur's lips were soft and sweet. A moment of sheer pleasure amidst the thunderclouds, the roaring tempest, of that same old weary storm.

Over too soon. Always over too soon.

Fleur sighed and cupped my cheek. "You taste like time," she whispered. "Young and old, never there but all _z_at matters."

In the silent air of the early morning, the ancient castle doors in the Entrance Hall swung open on heavy, creaking hinges. A dozen pairs of boots broke the moment, slapping against the stone floors.

"I'm about to cause some trouble," I said. "Want to stay and watch?"

* * *

><p><em>Shouldn't this make more sense after so long…?<em>

* * *

><p>Insane or just insecure, I didn't know, but it wasn't arrogance or confidence so much as apathy and wearied fatigue that found me calmly eating apple pie as the Minister of Magic strode into the Great Hall, flanked by a dozen Aurors.<p>

"Minister Scrimgeour," I said as he drew level with Fleur and myself. "Please, you and your friends take a seat. I'm sure there's more pie around here somewhere. Does Albus Dumbledore know you have invaded his castle?"

"Potter," the Minister said – not unkindly, but with a raw frustration that should have shamed me. "You are a hard man to find."

"Yes, well… I've been busy." There was a smell of old, dusty parchment and copper on the air. None of the Aurors, arrayed behind the Minister, had drawn their wands.

Scrimgeour took a seat next to Fleur. She shuffled a few inches further down the table, putting the Minister and myself at an eye level across the chessboard. "So I hear. The ambassador to the United States tells me you are responsible for the destruction of the top three floors of a Muggle hotel in New York City."

"That was Voldemort."

To his credit, the Minister nodded. "I suspected as much. We have also been at great pains to convince the French that you were not responsible for the murder of Thomas Laurent."

"Have you?"

Scrimgeour scowled. "Potter, be reasonable. We are fighting the same enemy, are we not?"

I sliced a section of pie and contemplated my response, savouring the sweetness. I wasn't usually a fan of sweet things – being sweet enough already – but apple pie was a weakness.

"I thought so, yes," I said, licking my lips. "But then you drew Miss Delacour into the bowels of your antiquated and corrupt Ministry, the very nerve centre of all that is wrong in the world, that let a creature like Lord Voldemort rise to power – not once, but twice – and you can see my hesitation, Minister, yes?"

"No man is above the law, Pott—Harry."

"No, we're not on first name basis, Rufus."

Clouds were gathering overhead. The enchanted ceiling was scattered with a billion stars, strewn amid the summer storm.

The Minister nodded. "Very well. We can prove you were elsewhere when Thomas Laurent was murdered."

"I was with Fleur, yes. You owe her an apology, by the way."

Scrimgeour blinked and turned to Fleur. "Miss Delacour was simply answering our questions, Potter. Questions you were summoned to answer under the laws of the Wizengamot."

"You made her cry. I wanted to kill you for that. Be glad I only destroyed two of you damned Dementors."

The Aurors were staring me down behind the Minister. I didn't recognise any of them. No Order members. That made me think of Tonks, and of Jason Arnair. I hoped they were happy, wherever they were. It would be time to call on them all too soon.

"How did you destroy those creatures?"

"Practice." I was down to the crust of my pie. This air of indifferent arrogance would only prevail a moment longer. My mythril hand, resting in my lap, shook with anger.

"There are questions that need answering."

"The answer, Minister, is 'yes'. Yes, Voldemort wants to takeover your Ministry. Yes, you are going to die. Yes, that is Atlantis off the northwest coast. Yes, I am wearing an awesome hat."

"'Arry," Fleur whispered. "Be kind."

And no one save a woman could make me feel that guilty. I sighed, long and hard, into the pie crumbs. Fleur knew the truth of me – she had glimpsed the thousand years and tens of thousands of deaths. The _dum-diddy-dum-dum_ Wastelands of Time. She knew more than enough, not everything, but enough.

I regarded Rufus Scrimgeour through a lens of time, and found him small, but on the right side. He always meant well – to the best of any good intentions.

"Minister, you are here for my advice. You don't think you are, but you are. My advice is thus – _run_. Run away. Run and hide. You and your… Ministry of fools have a very small part to play in the events to come. You are negligible, unimportant and collateral damage. I say this not to offend, but to help. Run and you may live. Stay, fight, and you will die in the crossfire."

"You sound so sure of this, Mr. Potter."

I tapped my nose and winked. "Nothing is ever certain. Especially now. But time often tells the same tale, and cannot be trusted. Oh sweet Merlin's balls no." I chuckled. "Do yourself, your family, a favour, and let Voldemort and I kill one another alone."

"You are not leading this war, Harry Potter, and neither is Albus Dumbledore. The Ministry, with its armies, will stand against the Dark Lord. We understand that you, the Boy Who Lived, are a sign of hope to many. Stand with us – a Ministry united."

"I've tried that before. It doesn't work." But then neither did any other way. "Still, there's no do over this time… Maybe we do have to try things a little differently."

Like creases in old parchment, the Minister's brow furrowed. He raised his arm and one of the Aurors handed him a scroll. He unfurled it and slid it across the table.

"Now what's all this?"

"A list of charges you _are _guilty of, Potter. Among them, attacking and disarming Aurors of Britain and France, killing nineteen members of the goblin nation – not without cause, or so I'm told, but a charge you have to answer for. Further down the list, consorting with Miguel Blue, the American crime lord, several counts of illegal apparation and operating an unknown magical vehicle in the skies over London."

"You do know I stopped the demonic hordes of Hell itself from descending into our world, don't you?"

The Minister nodded slowly. "We… we recovered some of the remains."

"Well, then you know what it is I am fighting. What it is Voldemort has at his command. And I did _not_ kill them all. There are scattered remnants loose upon this world." I was going for deep and dangerous, but I think I just sounded drunk.

I wish I were drunk. There were brief moments of oblivious happiness in the bottle. Over too soon? Oh yes indeedy.

_Come on, now. Are we still waiting?_

Forget-me-not.

"You didn't come here to pull me up before the Wizengamot, Scrimgeour. We are beyond that, yes. What do you really want?"

"Your help, Harry."

I opened my mouth to curse the man and all that he represented, but then I felt a gentle caress on my leg, beneath my ruined suit pants. Hmm… either the Minister wanted to be more than 'allies', or Fleur was trying to tell me something I should have already known.

Her delicate foot stroked my shin and I found an honest smile.

"No, not this time," I whispered to myself. "Same old mistakes… heh. Okay I'm going to save your life, Rufus, and the lives of so many others."

The Minister rested both his hands on the Gryffindor table and raised a single eyebrow. "Oh yes. How?"

I grinned, tipped my hat back on my head, and offered the Minister my shiny metal hand. "Why, I'm going to destroy your Ministry before it destroys you, of course."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**__ Comedy and tragedy, ladies and gentleman. Once upon a time I knew the difference. You have read, now please review. Think of how happy/angry/turned on you could make me with an honest critique._

_Review, damn you! Do it and I'll consider a Harry/Fleur/Tessa threeway._

_It's scotch o'clock,_

_Joe _

_**Joe's Fic Recommendation: **_Dagger and Rose, _by Perspicacity. Go look it up and be blown away. A Harry/Fleur tale, exceptionally written. _


	7. Chapter 6: Satisfaction Guaranteed

_**Disclaimer:**__ It's a town full of losers!_

_**A/N:**__ There's a line in here about painting, which I shamelessly stole from a Joshua Kadison song – _Painted Desert Serenade. _Wonderful song. As for all your reviewing antics last chapter, all I can say is bravo! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and there were a lot of you!_

_Here's another chapter inside a month to show my appreciation. _

* * *

><p><em><strong>Harry Potter and the Heartlands of Time<strong>_

_Chapter Six – Satisfaction Guaranteed_

_That the Pearly Gates…had such eloquent graffiti, like 'We'll meet again…'  
>and 'Fuck the Man!',<br>and 'Tell my mother not to worry…'_

_~Iron and Wine_

"You're going to… destroy—?"

"Destroy the Ministry, Minister, yes. Heh. Ministry-Minister-Ministry-Minister-Ministry-Min—."

"Stop it," Scrimgeour growled, slapping his hand down on the table.

A slow smile spread across my face. "Why, Rufus… you almost looked like a man in charge then."

"Will you answer for your crimes, Potter?"

"He will not," Fleur said, settling the matter.

The Minister glanced at her and then back to me. He folded his hands together and sighed. "I'd suggest doing as you're told – but I think even the twelve Aurors arrayed so menacingly over my shoulder couldn't make you."

Truth, or something like it. A force to be reckoned with, that's what I'd become. I had a hankerin' for some yam frites. Picture postcards from New York City, Bill's Bar and Burger on East 51st. Oh yeah… no. No time. Where were my thoughts?

I offered the Minister a winning smile.

"I've seen so… so many things. I've seen governments fall into anarchy, women and children crawling on bleeding, blistered hands from the ashes of their homes. I've seen fear turn to anger, to acts of such appalling cruelty that…" I had to pause, and let the memories fade away. "I've seen armies and cities swallowed whole by gaping maws in the earth, by cracks full of liquid fire… I've seen disease ruin nations, cutting down great swaths of people like a sickle through wheat."

"Potter, I don't—"

"But I do not have to explain the justifications for what I'm doing to you, Minister Rufus Scrimgeour," I said quietly, gently, shaking my head. "You haven't the faintest idea of what's just over the horizon. You think you do, but you don't. And no matter what I say… Well, we're done here."

I stood up to leave. Fleur did the same.

"We are _not_ done here, Potter."

"What Voldemort will send to end you, Minister, will claw your sanity away in one foul stroke. As you drift into eternity, Hellspeak ringing in your ears, you're going to wish you ran. Goodbye."

* * *

><p><em>Beautiful in my eyes, evermore beautiful – like a phone call at three in the morning.<em>

* * *

><p>Fallin' on stony ground, boss. The Sleeping God was tired. Time-addled and fatigued.<p>

Fleur ran her fingers through my hair, whispering sweet nothings in my ear, and I tried to relax. I sat on the edge of her bed, she was on her knees behind me. I could feel the swell of her breasts between my shoulders. A small, much needed comfort.

"Will you stay with me tonight, 'Arry? Hold me as I sleep?"

"No."

Fleur sighed. "Where are you going?"

It was almost four in the morning. I had wanted to stay at Hogwarts, explain a few more things to Ron, Hermione and Dumbledore, and set them tasks for the struggle to come, but there had been no real time. I'd lost a day clearing the waste of a thousand years from the castle grounds.

Even now, time was ticking away… but my memory of events could not be trusted this life around. Not the smaller details, but there was still some terrible certainty, wasn't there? Oh yes. I'd send Dumbledore a message to meet later on today.

"I really want to stay," I whispered. Fleur's nails felt good along my scalp. So good. "If you let me paint you naked on this big brass bed, I might stay."

Fleur laughed softly. "Crazy old man – I look far too tired for such nonsense."

"Well, that's alright, I've never painted before…"

* * *

><p><em>We laughed. We cried. We <em>loved.

_And we didn't yet know how utterly damned we were. Not yet. How awful love can be._

"_And who is Fleur Delacour to you, Harry? Who is she to you?"_

"_Someone I care for very much—"_

_Dumbledore laughed and waved my words away, as if they offended him. "That is a terrible answer and you know it, my friend. It is a_ surface _answer. It compliments her while avoiding the question entirely._ To you, _Harry, who is she_ to you?"

Lovely_,_ _I thought. To me, she is lovely. To hell if Dumbledore couldn't see the depth in such a word. I didn't say that, of course. _

"_Small toes," I said, and meant it. "Fleur is small toes crunching sand at the beach. Fleur is laughter at silly television ads. You know the ones that are never funny? She loves them. She is kind and sweet and precious. She is lavender in Provence." The words were getting away from me now. I was angry. "I'm lucky to know her. Lucky to see her smile, Professor. To me, she is not just lovely, she is_ most _lovely."_

_Dumbledore wore that sad, old smile of his. The one that'd seen Dark Lords plunge the world into war time and time again. "There you have it. You must care for her very much."_

"_Yes... and I'm happy if she's happy."_

"_Oh you terrible liar." Dumbledore laughed. It was damn near pitying. "A lifetime, Harry. You forget I've seen a lifetime of years... never once in all that time has a man been honestly happy if the woman he loves is with someone else. If I'm certain of anything, I am certain of that. It is an infallible law of the whole universe."_

"_Okay, I'm not happy, but I can't and won't blame Fleur for that. My happiness shouldn't be dependent on her. That's not fair. So I want her to be happy, I want her kept safe, even if it's with someone else."_

"_However?"_

_I sighed. "However... no one will ever love her like I do."_

_Dumbledore clapped a hand on my shoulder. "You should be telling her all of this."_

"_And destroy our friendship? No. I know her well enough to love her, Dumbledore. To love her so much, but Bill Weasley knows her better."_

"_It would be a terrible shame if you were wrong about that."_

* * *

><p>The last few days, ever since I'd returned from Atlantis – that brief moment where I had tried to kill myself before Saturnia told me of the life inside Fleur – I've felt as if there were so much to do, so much to fuck up, that I've done nothing.<p>

The world felt as if I were trying to move through treacle.

I'm proud to say I was still alive, I suppose. After all's been said and done… I was one sly son of a gun.

And, yeah, every man sells a bit of his soul.

A long time ago, I had come to the conclusion that I could not escape my descent into insanity, but I could _capitalise_ on it. Spin a negative into a positive, or some such bullshit.

By the time I'd realised just how far beyond fucking normal I'd fallen, it was too late.

Which sums up the last thousand years nicely and brings me to today.

_Difference between thieves and crooks, boss, may it do ya fine…_

"He'll call it 'Necropolis' – a city of the dead. It's where he'll raise an army of mindless, zombified Muggles."

"You have seen this before?" Albus Dumbledore asked, over conjured tea and crumpets.

We rode the gondola in Banff National Park toward the summit of Mount Sulphur. It seemed as good a place as any to discuss the fate of the world, and a lot prettier than most. Especially in the summer. Near evening, rays of buttercup yellow danced along the mountains like fireflies emerging from a shadowed forest.

"Oh yes, many-a many-a time. They wont just be Inferi, either. You ever seen those old zombie films? A bite and you're infected? It'll be more like that. The Necropolis spawns many necropoleis… Europe falls within months. He leaves Britain, for the most part, untouched."

Dumbledore sighed, gazing out at the valley below as the motorised cart brought us closer to the summer summit. Canada was perhaps the most beautiful place in the world.

"Tom was such a quiet boy, in his youth."

"He was born a monster, Headmaster. If there was ever anything human in him, it died for that first horcrux."

"You will stop him?"

I shook my head, not dismissing the idea, but shying away from the task. There was murder to be done. "He usually picks Moscow, but on a whim I've seen him use Helsinki, Berlin… Once the infected Inferi are released upon the population, well then only fire will do."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll drop the magical equivalent of a thermonuclear bomb on Voldemort's city of choice, killing millions to save billions."

Dumbledore regarded me in terrible silence for a long moment. I stood undaunted, in a shiny new Armani suit, my awesome hat in place. His purple robes were something to be admired, I thought.

"No, you would not."

And to that I sighed. "Damned if I do… damned if I don't. I have in the past. I set most of Eastern Europe ablaze to stamp out his armies. But even if I cut the infection off in Moscow, or Berlin, or Timbuk-fucking-tu, there's nothing to stop him trying again the next day, or the next day."

"Truly, nothing?"

"He kills two birds with one stone – the Muggle world implodes, zombie apocalypse-style, and the magical governments collapse trying to contain the damage. Voldemort steps into the power vacuum back in Britain, and then all hail the new king."

"You paint a very bleak picture, Harry. Surely after a thousand years, you have some plan to thwart Tom."

The gondola swung gently back and forth as we approached the summit. There were familiar faces waiting for us at the top, whisked away from Hogwarts in the night. My army, of a kind, against the Dark Lord.

Tonight, we planned a war.

"Would I have failed so many times if my plans ever worked?" I asked. "We have to _hound_ him, Albus Dumbledore. We have to go on the offensive, burning and routing his followers. We have to annihilate his hidden horcruxes, and…"

"And?" The gondola came to rest in its bracket at the terminal station atop Sulphur Mountain. We stepped out into the cool summer's evening. There was a scent of maple leaf and warm, freshly baked pie on the air.

"And we have to give him Atlantis. He covets that city, Professor. The very nature of his broken soul was what led him to its remains. What led to a thousand years of war and death for me. To have it renewed, alive, and seething with raw power today, now... Well, how could he resist?"

* * *

><p><em>Empty road at happy hour.<em>

* * *

><p>"Call it the calm before the storm, but soon – weeks – I won't have five minutes in which to shit, shower or shave. I'll need you then. All of you."<p>

Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me. How did I know all of this wasn't in my head? That I wasn't bouncing off the walls in St. Mungo's and imagining a thousand years of rape, murder and that shitty custard made from packet-mix.

It hurt too much to be false, I guess. Either way, reality was reality – even if it was insane dreams.

Atop of Sulphur Mountain there was a steakhouse. It served a premium scotch fillet with peppercorn sauce, always medium-rare, and I had not found its equal anywhere else in the world. If this steak was a dream, it was almost worth Voldemort, Atlantis and day after day of nightmarish Lovecraftian horror.

It was over steak and scotch that I laid the framework for my war against Voldemort and, when the time came, the British Ministry. I kept the latter goal to myself. Dumbledore, however short his life had become, would not approve.

"What do you want us to do, mate?" Ron Weasley asked. I noticed his hand over Hermione's. As was the way, my two best friends banded together in my absence and my… insanity.

"Ron – you and Neville both." Neville Longbottom blinked and poured some more sauce on his steak. "I'll give you a list of Voldemort's horcruxes in Britain. You'll take Gryffindor's sword and have done with them."

"Won't they be protected?" Neville asked.

"Very much so, buddy." I sipped a crystal goblet of single malt. We were seated on the terrace, next to a log fire, overlooking darkened mountains – more mountains than most people ever get to see. It was brisk, but not cold. The air smelt fresh. "You'll have a list of instructions – very specific instructions."

"I don't think the boys should go off on their own," Hermione said.

"As usual, sweetheart, you are right." I glanced at Dumbledore. "I think you could probably provide some assistance, Professor."

Dumbledore was admiring the patterns on the tablecloth. Intricate swirls of red silk against a sapphire-blue net. "Hmm… oh yes, yes indeed. A horcrux is an abomination I would gladly destroy."

I nodded. "Hermione, I'll want you to do some fancy work with a few artefacts I'm going to acquire in the next few days."

"Artefacts?" Hermione asked.

"Acquire?" Dumbledore frowned.

I tapped the side of my nose and pointed at the old man. "Steal, I suppose, but with the best of good intentions."

"And what will you be stealing, Mr. Potter?"

There was a shopping list somewhere in my head. I would need some time to make all the preparations. I was powerful, ridiculously so, and could probably outdraw and beat any wizard in the world – save Voldemort, who shared my Infernal power boost – but a stray curse could still bring me down.

Me and the whole wide world, this last little life around.

"The Hand of Merlin, for one. The Stone of Dreams another…" Why did steak always come with so much salad? The Italian dressing made it somewhat manageable. "Road's Fire and the Lost Portal. The Battle Scar."

Hermione's eyebrows rose into her fringe as I checked off the list, Ron looked lost and Neville curious. Dumbledore chuckled. "All of that, Harry? Magical artefacts and devices that have been lost almost as long as Atlantis itself?"

"I found Atlantis, didn't I?" A small, sad grin. "And I spent lifetimes finding all that other nonsense. The Hand of Merlin is in the _Magnus Fontis_ below Rome, would you believe. We had fun down there, didn't we?"

"What's the Hand of Merlin?" Ron asked.

"A shield," Hermione said. "A mythical shield that could span for miles and block even the Killing Curse. I didn't think it real."

"Just lost to time," I said softly.

"I've never heard of Road's Fire," Neville said. "What's that, Harry?"

"A guidebook, of a sort." There was a basket of wedges on the table. I dipped a few into the peppercorn sauce and devoured them whole. "The Lost Portal is the key to a network of ancient Atlantean doorways scattered around the world. Road's Fire is the instruction manual, a cache of magical knowledge, on how to use those portals."

"Sounds useful."

"Useful, yes, and even more dangerous, but it will be vital."

"You mention the Stone of Dreams, Harry." Dumbledore clapped his good hand over his withered death sentence. "The legend surrounding that particular object suggests it was a means of communicating through dreams—"

"Yeah, things are going to get pretty fucking magical."

"—and also a way of entering dreams, of moving through a world of sleeping consciousness."

"Yes. It is."

"You have used it before?"

I nodded. "That and many more objects of questionable power."

"I question the ethical implications of such measures."

"You always do." I offered the Headmaster a tired smile. "But necessity doesn't always walk the straight and narrow. There's a difference between being corrupt, Professor, and getting your hands dirty."

Dinner descended into dessert – into sticky date pudding and ice cream. If not for the impending war, the world pushed to the very brink of annihilation, the evening would have been a solely pleasant one. Still, talk of death and destruction were not quite enough to dull any appetites. Not yet, at least.

"After all things said and done, there are worse ways to end the day I suppose. Beats burning twenty-two thousand mistakes."

"Do you think we can fight a war, Harry?" Neville asked. "This is a little different than wand battles in the Department of Mysteries."

I nodded, admiring the flickering flames in the log fire. Tiny little fire sprites dancing in the dark. "I know none of you can, or ever will, remember it, but you've fought this war before. You've fought, you've won… you have lost and you have died." I chuckled. "You lived some hell, don't we all, but this time… this time. This time we win, Nev."

"If you say so, Harry."

"I do. I do say—"

There was a tang of harsh, acrid magic on the air – of copper, a mouthful of pennies – and I jumped up, my chair falling back, wand in hand as a burst of bright silver light appeared in the air over the fireplace.

The light hovered for a handful of seconds, revealing a twisted and broken form. Something, _someone_, fell out of the light and into the fire, scattering the logs and sending the sparks into furious whirlwinds.

My hands were quicker than my mind. I _lunged_ forward, but even as I thrust my arms into the roaring flames and grasped the battered and bruised flesh, the lacerated and ruined skin, I _knew_ what I had just seen.

_Who_ I had just seen. _Oh sweet Merlin no…_

The woman was naked – and looked worse than dead. But the dark hair with a streak of soft red, her small frame and delicate ears… My own skin burning, my friends and others on the terrace screaming, I _roared_ a pure guttural cry and heaved her from the flames.

_No._

My suit was on fire, as was the woman's hair. I fell back with her in my arms. Shaking, pained, but alive and _aware_. We were doused with jets of cold water from Dumbledore's wand. He extinguished the flames and sent wisps of curling, flesh-scented smoke into the air.

My fingers sought the curve of the woman's neck, searching for a pulse. I blocked the pain, forced it aside, and… and there! Yes, she lived. Her pulse was thin, thready, but there. A wave of fierce relief washed over me, tempered only by an anger so unholy—

She moaned in my arms and I choked back a raw sob, brushing the burnt hair back from her face with my silver hand.

It was Tessa.

* * *

><p><em>We learned to laugh and we learned to dance…<em>

* * *

><p>It could have been five minutes or a thousand years – ten thousands miles and naught but a heartbeat – caught in that same old weary maelstrom of persuasive insanity.<p>

Time – that old fickle _FUCKER_ – swam through me as if in a dream. An unfamiliar feeling trickled down into my stomach.

"Harry!" Hermione cried.

It was only a handful of seconds, but a million thoughts rushed through my head. All of them dark and vengeful.

Tessa had been… ravaged. Desolated and ruined. I blinked, looked up at the people and my friends surrounding me, and out at the endless mountains beyond twilight. Then back down at Tessa, in my arms, and watched a piece of burnt skin slide off the back of my good hand.

"I'm… afraid," I said.

Gathering Tessa as close as I dared, we disapparated across the face of the world.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**__ Huh. I didn't know that was going to happen until I wrote it. Writing is like that sometimes – surprising. For that reason alone, I recommend it. Good place to end the chapter, I think. A lot of important stuff in this one._

_Now you can review, if you wish, or check out my profile. How about this? If you have any questions (I won't give away the plot, mostly because I'm making it up as I go along), but any questions about my stories or my writing, then leave me a review and I'll get back to you – you'll need to sign in, of course._

_How's that for a deal? I get a review and you, at long last, get to find out about my impressive yet devastating girth. You're welcome._

_All the best,_

_Joe-zizzle._


	8. Chapter 7: Dear Atlantis

_**Disclaimer:**__ I am one of those melodramatic fools._

_**A/N:**__ Here's a nice in-between chapter, folks, as we delve into the initial opening conflict for this story. You'll see. A nice and easy 4,000 words. Good work on the reviewing last chapter – I think I replied to all those who asked questions. If I missed you, my sincere apologies – curse my good name in another review for this chapter!_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Harry Potter and the Heartlands of Time<strong>_

_Chapter Seven – Dear Atlantis_

_Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare…_

_This is Major Tom to Ground Control, I'm stepping through the door,  
>and I'm floating in a most peculiar way.<br>And the stars look very different today._

_~Space Oddity, David Bowie_

From the top of one mountain to another, I apparated with Tessa through a maelstrom of international border wards, leaving a blazing trail of astounding magic across the face of the planet, taking no care or time to mask my presence until I came to Russia.

There I paused only a second out of phase before crossing into the Urals and to the summit of Mount Narodnaya, two-thousand metres above the world, making sure no one could follow.

I appeared in the early hours of the morning, just before dawn, in a crystal courtyard of an old monastery that had no place, none whatsoever, in this part of the world. Which was kind of why it was here, out of the way and unlooked for. The women of this particular monastery usually went out into the world to do their work, and brought their knowledge back.

Torches blazed in brackets along the enclosure, and my leather shoes crunched against a light snowfall.

Apart from the torches, it looked abandoned – and was, for the most part.

"_HELP ME!_" I screamed into the quiet. The sky was purpling toward blue overhead. Twinkling with about a billion dull stars. "_RISE AND SHINE LADIES!_"

Shock had given way to pain. Tessa was unconscious in my arms, but I couldn't hold her, not with my own burns screaming in brutal agony. I fell to my knees, defeated and confused. Her lower half slipped from my grip onto the frozen cobblestones.

This wasn't Voldemort. It _couldn't_ have been Voldemort. Chronos… Saturnia? I'd burn this world to the ground for an answer. What if it had been Voldemort? Had I… had I fucked up?

My wand was in my hand but I didn't remember drawing it. _What could I do_? No one had answered my cries. I started shooting spheres of bright crimson magic into the air. They _shrieked_ as they rose and exploded in bright, loud colours. The old stone walls of the monastery shook.

Tessa moaned. She was bruised, cut and burnt. I didn't dare try to heal even the smallest of her wounds. Long ago I'd given up the healing arts. Even for a god of time, that magic was beyond me. I wasn't wired right… in the mind.

"Remember that time we…" I shook my head. The world felt sluggish. How long had I been awake? The snow was stained a terrible shade of crimson in a widening pool around us… My blood? Or hers? "…and your brother, John, he never liked me, did he? Should've trusted his instincts, love, and we wouldn't be here…" The clock wound back through my mind. "…four hundred years later, as time has flown for me. Has it only been four hundred years? Tessa, sweet Tessa… it felt longer."

Dark spots danced before my eyes, and I knew what that meant. I was fainting. There wasn't any blood getting to my brain, not enough. I slumped to my side, already falling, and caught myself at the last moment, bracing my mythril hand against the ground.

"One sly son of a gun…" I smiled. "That's me, Tess. We'll be okay."

My arm gave way and all hopes faded to black.

* * *

><p><em>You never did like to show your battle scars…<em>

* * *

><p>Waking up in a strange bed is always a touch disconcerting.<p>

Waking up _tied _to a strange bed, doubly so.

Consciousness returned with the pounding intensity of all the demonic armies of the last thousand years. I moaned… There was very little pain, which was good, but what little there was hurt to all-fuckery.

I shoved it aside into the corner of my mind that dealt with such things. There was no way to be rid of it completely, but over time and through circumstance I had learnt to diminish and ignore something as weak and belligerent as pain.

_Thinkin' 'bout that only road, boss._

"Hello?"

I was in a round stone room, like the sort found at the top of an old tower. I knew where I was.

There was a window across the room. Flurries of snow had gathered on the old stone, up against the windowsill. I could glimpse cold mountain peaks beyond that. It was warm, magically so. Heat radiated from blue fire floating in torch brackets on the walls. I was wandless and it was warm. Damn near comfortable, even.

I hadn't felt this rested in days, weeks, months, years… centuries.

An old wooden door on well-oiled hinges slipped open and an elderly woman, dressed in red robes and a white silk apron glided in as if she were a ghost. Her gaze settled on mine and she nodded once, briefly. A kind, elderly matron with eyes as hard as fuckin' stone.

"Untie me," I said. Demanded. Expected to be obeyed.

She said nothing. Her wand was a twisted, gnarled stick coated in bark, and she used it to switch the dirty bandages on my arms for fresh ones. I got a look at the skin – the burns were healing. I'd come to the right place. Probably wouldn't even leave a scar.

"Untie me… please?" I asked.

The nurse shook her head. "Rest. Potter, you rest." Her English was broken, but then this was Russia. "You move too much. Scream in sleep. Tied for safety."

I was too vulnerable tied to this damned bed. It was all too easy to imagine a Hellbeast or something similar tearing the roof off this tower and finding me staked out like a sacrificial lamb.

"Tessa, the girl I brought with me…?"

The nurse frowned, shaking her head. "Sleep. You sleep."

"Is she alive, woman?"

"You sleep." She tapped her wand against my forehead and muttered calming, soothing… words.

Sleep sounded like the best idea in the world.

* * *

><p><em>All that I wanted, stolen in the night.<em>

* * *

><p>Waking up all over again. Sad song stuck on repeat, baby.<p>

It was dark outside the window now. My arms were still strapped to the bed.

I was well rested. As rested as I was going to get. There were enemies out there in the night, I was sure of it. There were always enemies. Unlucky for them, I had work to do. Vengeful, angry work.

Whoever had hurt Tessa would suffer.

It wasn't Voldemort, of that I could be sure. Voldemort would not have left her alive… if she was still alive, that is. _Are you sure?_ Yes. _No._

I cleared my throat and was about to call for some assistance… but had a better thought.

My mythril hand was uncovered – stripped of its glove. I wore nothing but my fancy silk boxer shorts, actually, and the bandages wrapped around my forearms. I concentrated on that mythril hand.

It looked like a hand, but the magic I'd used to create it was malleable. With enough thought I could reshape the damn thing, T-1000 style.

The fingers melded together and elongated. I curved the fluid metal back and up my arm, narrowing the tip to a razor sharp edge. The leather strap around my bicep was thick, but the mythril construct cut through it like a warm knife through butter.

With one arm free the other only took moments. I sat up, groaning, and wiped the sleep from my eyes. My arms ached under the bandages, but what I could see of the skin looked whole.

These wonderful witches had healed me, as I knew they would. What had they done for Tessa? Was she even alive? I felt sick at the thought – at not knowing.

_It's all the same story, just the voices that change…_

Leaping up out of bed, the room spun. I sat back down, breathing deep, angry breaths at my weakness. The dizziness dissipated after a long, bittier minute and I reassessed my condition. Healthy, for the most part, but weakened. Steak and scotch levels were dangerously low.

Of my clothes there was no sign, but I found my wand on a table beneath the window. Judging the day was hard, but I had a feeling I'd spent the best part of thirty hours unconscious. That felt right, according to the clock in my head.

I twirled my wand around the back of my hand and headed toward the door. I was in the corridor, winding down an old staircase of cool stone, before I remembered what I was wearing, which was almost nothing.

I could have conjured another suit, and a damn fine lookin' one at that – indistinguishable, for all that mattered, from the real thing – but it wasn't the real thing. It felt like wearing a cheap knock-off, even though it was made from the raw power, the ascending oils of magic, that fuelled the whole fuckin' universe.

So cheap jeans and t-shirt it was, until I could get back to my tailor. Such things were important, after all.

One of the nurses was waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase. She held a book, her fingers caught between the pages, and smiled when she saw me. It was a warm smile, one of trust and… faith.

"Tessa," I said. And then, as an afterthought, "Thank you for healing my arms."

She inclined her head and motioned for me to follow her along the stone corridor. A rich velvet carpet felt cool beneath my bare feet.

"How did you find us, Harry Potter?" the young Healer asked quietly. Her accent was British. She didn't look much older than me.

"I know one of your order – Madam Pomfrey, the matron at Hogwarts. Once upon a time—a very long time ago—she brought me here." There was no real name to the place, just an idea, a dedication, to the healing arts. "But you wouldn't remember that, it never happened."

The nurse frowned but didn't push me. She led me in silence from then on, through the monastery's winding hallways and up and down multiple staircases. It was a large place, home to dozens, and yet we saw no one else. It was quiet, almost too quiet.

At long last we came to a solitary wooden door at the base of another tower. The nurse's face was grave, pale. I put a hand on the door and she grasped my wrist.

"The girl you arrived with… she was damaged, Mr. Potter. So very damaged." Her brow crumpled, tears welled in her eyes. "And it was no accident, was it? I have never seen such cruelty."

"She lives?"

"Yes, but she sleeps. Her mind must rest. Do not wake her."

Her tone brooked no argument, and I wasn't inclined to disagree. I may have been, through long years, trial and circumstance, one of the most powerful wizards on the planet, but I respected certain boundaries. The word of this woman, for one, and her expertise.

There was a quiet ambience in Tessa's room. A thin, soft light from a single torch. It was almost pleasant, if not for the stench of blood, sweat, tears and burnt flesh.

Tessa lay on clean sheets, wrapped in bandages and observed by no less than three of the monastery's witches. A gentle blue light encased her, and her hair defied gravity within the magic, floating above her face. She was frowning.

"Thank you," I said, and meant it. The three nurses around Tessa's bed said nothing, did not even look my way.

My guide nurse patted my forearm. "You will leave now, yes?"

"Yes, yes."

"To find who did this?"

I nodded.

"And you will hurt them?"

_Your circuits dead, there's something wrong…_ "I could lie to you, but I think you want me to hurt whoever did this, sweetheart."

The nurse pursed her lips together and turned away, but I saw a fierce glint in her eye before she did. Body language didn't lie.

"Violence does not solve anything," she said.

"Until it does."

* * *

><p><em>Get busy livin'…<em>

* * *

><p>It all began with Atlantis.<p>

And now, it would end that same way.

The shields surrounding Malfoy Manor had been upgraded considerably from their usual fare. Heh, I guess Voldemort had decided to take me somewhat seriously after the memories I'd shared.

I had apparated from Russia, back across the continent and home to the United Kingdom. It was still early here, barely scraping dawn. The manor house stood tall and arrogant, a vicious sore on the countryside. I stood just out the front of the large wrought-iron gates, a few feet outside of the ward line.

"_VOLDEMORT!"_

He wanted the city, did he? Well, so did I. Perhaps it was time to well and truly change this old, tired game and unleash a lost civilisation upon the world. It couldn't be any worse than what was to come, after all.

"_VOLLLDEEEMOOOORRRRTTT?_" I cocked my ear to the gate. "_VOLDEMORT, IT'S ONLY ME. HARRY JAMES POTTER, LORD OF TIME!_"

Dead silence. The wind blew the leaves on the manicured hedge somewhat menacingly, or so I thought. No one home, maybe, but I didn't think so.

"Okay, fine." A complex and horrifically cruel ward structure stood between the front door and me. I rolled my head, cracking the joints in my neck. Time to get magical.

I picked up a piece of gravel and rubbed it between my hands. Sparks of raw silver magic burnt through the friction. The tiny rock began to glow. I tossed it up and down a few times, walking back and forth before the gate, and bit my tongue, taking aim.

I raised my palm before my face, eyeing the glowing stone, and then flicked it with my good hand through the iron bars and against the ward line.

It struck the intricate shield with a tiny _ping_.

And the whole darn thing exploded in a miraculous cacophony of sound, light and magic turned to chaos. A million tiny sparks of shattered green light fell like snow above the manor home and grounds of Lucius Malfoy.

* * *

><p><em>Doesn't matter how big the fucker is, he's still got a neck.<em>

* * *

><p>Appearing out of shadow, a night within the night, Lord Voldemort regarded me from behind the arrogant and gilded gates of Malfoy Manor. Green sparks, the dissolved wards, burnt along the hedges and grass. A thousand tiny little spot fires.<p>

"Harry," said Voldemort, "I am… surprised to see you here. Tell me, what happened to that ridiculous hat you had taken to wearing?"

I blinked—gasped—and patted myself on the top of my head. Good gravy, nothing but my majestic midnight locks. My awesome Captain's hat had been stolen by those Healer-witch vixens.

No matter. I'd retrieve it later. "Did you hurt her to send me a message, Tom?"

Voldemort stepped forward and _through_ the gates, as if they were illusion. He held his wand against me. I kept my hands crossed behind my back. I was barefoot, in jeans and a loose polo. Not overly intimidating, but it would do.

"I do not follow you, old man," the Dark Lord whispered. "But please, allow me one question, yes? I ask that you answer honestly."

I licked my lips. He may have been lying about Tessa, but I didn't think so. There was no way he could know about her. The memories I'd shared were just a glimpse of the whole… "Okay, but then we have to talk shop. I have," I swallowed, hiding a grimace, "…an offer for you, in exchange for certain codes of civility and conduct in the war to come."

Voldemort stepped in close. I could _taste_ the dark magic that held him together. Blood and copper, and stinging, acrid smoke. He was cold, so cold. He stood two feet taller than me, as well, in his resplendent black robes. I was not afraid. Death… was something to be embraced, after all. Greeted like an old friend.

My scar was burning like a _sunovabeetch._

He placed his wand at my throat. I still made no move for mine. "Why, Potter, should I not just kill you now?" The crimson spark in the Dark Lord's eyes was honestly curious. "I have pondered this for some days now. Since our altercation in New York City. Tell me, why shouldn't I kill you?"

"Well, that's an easy one. I have something you want. Atlantis, city of. Also, you won't kill me because it will only send me back to the start, reset the whole wide world."

"For you, perhaps. Your time magic will reset reality for you. Here, now, in this world, I will have defeated you."

"I don't think it works like that." _Did it?_ Were there thousands of realities out there, somewhere, parallel to this one – the realities where I had failed and died? God, that was an awful thought. The Infernal petal buried in my heart seemed to twitch.

"Should we find out?" A fierce light burned at the tip of his wand. He placed it against my chin and the skin sizzled – like putting out a cigarette on my face.

I ignored the pain. I was good at that. "What say we go unleash Atlantis instead?"

Voldemort removed his wand. "Oh?"

I grinned. "I know you can't break through my shield. I have perfected that over the course of many lifetimes. It would take you at least as long to even make a dent."

Voldemort sneered. "You do not understand the smallest sliver of what I am capable—"

"Bullshit, I know exactly what you're capable of. I've died enough times at your wand, haven't I? No, the shield has you vexed, irked, trumped… cursed? Whatever, I'm offering you access to the city in exchange for an agreement."

"What agreement?"

"An Unbreakable Vow, Tom. Sworn on the very magic that keeps you from fading away like smoke on the wind, you soulless bastard." I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "A vow that you will not use, or create, Inferi in our war to come. I've seen you do it before, you know. Turn a city of muggles into mindless slaves. I won't have it – not this time. Agree to that and the shield around Atlantis comes down today."

Voldemort stared at me in a silence that grew quickly uncomfortable, given how close we were standing. He was no doubt weighing up the odds of my offer, the truth of the Unbreakable Vow. Cost/benefit analysis on whether or not he slaughtered millions in the months to come.

By Merlin's balls, we were both far too insane to be making these decisions. But who else, I ask… who else?

"You would give up the hold you have on the most powerful, magically-advanced city in the world… for _Muggles?_"

I could smell the scorn. "Yes, yes I would. Tom, if I knew it would end this war right now and send you to a hell you very much deserve, there's _nothing_ I wouldn't do." The sincerity in my voice caused the Dark Lord to blink. "Understand, I am _tired_. So very tired. I have lived enough for ten men, and died some twenty thousand times. I want this to be over. This is the last roll of the dice – whoever is left standing takes the world this time. But I won't leave it a smoking wasteland. I'll have your Vow on this."

"Why not just flee Britain, Harry? You know I will win. Take your friends, that old fool of a Headmaster, and flee."

"Someone has to stand against you. Fate fucked me on that one. I did run once, a long time ago." I shook my head. "No, we'll fight it out this one last time—some of my friends will probably die, yes, but they'll die on their feet. Not cowering half a world away."

"Admirable, I suppose. But ultimately pointless." Voldemort laughed. "I accept your offer, Harry Potter. Let us head inside and have Lucius oversee our Vow."

"Awesome."

* * *

><p><em>Deals with the devil aside, I could taste victory indistinguishable from defeat.<em>

* * *

><p>Dawn had broken, as it always did, casting a pall of dull light against the shining silver city of Atlantis.<p>

I stood with Lord Voldemort on what had once been Blackpool beach. Creeping purple vines and amazingly alien wild flowers were growing along the sand and up the edge of my enormous shield. Remnants of the past world, of life ten thousand years ago, slithering through the cracks.

_Twiddle my thumbs just for a bit… sick of all this same old shit._ I took a swig of bitter, aged firewhiskey, stolen from Lucius Malfoy's personal collection. A fine year, goblin-made. It was scotch o'clock somewhere.

I flexed my good right hand around my wand and pointed it at the city, shimmering within the shield. Impossible towers, skyscrapers a mile high… all alive and vibrant, unbroken by time – mythril lined the streets and there was no… dust.

"You know, all the magic in the world won't make people like you, Tom."

"Do as you have Vowed, Harry."

"I'm just saying – you're a clever man. I understand you want to rule the world, or whatever. Britain, at least. Forge a magical society of pure blood and seek immortality. But what's that worth if you're alone?"

"When the time comes, Harry, I am going to _relish_ killing you."

"Heh." I coughed, tasted blood. Took another swig of amber liquid. "You always do. It will be at Hogwarts, you know. Not the Ministry, or some seat of power. A school. We will fight and one of us will die at that school. Full circle, wouldn't you say?"

"Bring down this shield."

I nodded. "What a good idea." Soft white light flowed from the tip of my wand. "_Abra_," I intoned, "_mother-fuckin'-kadabra!"_

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**_ _Somewhat of a segway chapter, yes, yes. Deals with the devil aside, I think Harry has a plan – Heartlands has so far been a lot of Apparating around and accomplishing very little, so feels good to be on track to something of particular awesomeness._

_I was going to end with a scene inside Atlantis, but it would make more sense next chapter. Look out for it soon (I'm aiming for two weeks in between chapters – this one was 17 days, so shoot me): _Chapter 8 – Hail To The King, Baby.

_**Joe's Fic Recommendation:**__ Go read __The Gunslinger and the Mage__ by Voice of the Nephilim. It's an awesome Harry Potter/Dark Tower crossover. You need not have read the Dark Tower to follow it. It's an awesome one-shot, good and long, and the final scene was written by none other than Motherfuckin' Joe (me)._


	9. Chapter 8: Hail To The King, Baby

_**Disclaimer:**__ A key, a lock, an unfound door…_

_**A/N:**__ Thanks for reading and reviewing the last chapter, folks. I shall delay you here not a moment longer – big revelations in this chapter. Longer than the last few, as well. All to the good._

_Cheers._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Harry Potter and the Heartlands of Time<strong>_

_Chapter Eight – Hail To The King, Baby _

_I am a powerful demonic force!  
>I am the harbinger of your doom!<br>And the forces of darkness will applaud me  
>as I stride through the Gates of Hell – carrying your head on a pike! <em>

_~Murray_

"_Abra_," I intoned, "_mother-fuckin' kadabra!_"

The words were unnecessary, as with all good magic. But they added a certain ambience to the moment. A certain diffusion to the tension. My undulating shield, struck through with a web of delayed time magic, began to fade.

I felt it dying, and so did Voldemort. There was no cataclysmic shift, no shattering of ancient wards or of power undone. Just a slow fade to nothing, as if the whole sordid mess had been gripped with an accelerated case of mass entropy.

With no shield to hold it back, the Irish Sea began to pour into the lower half the city, which was a mile out into the water. It had already flooded, somewhat, during Atlantis' arrival.

"Ah," I said. "Let's put a stop to that."

I directed my wand out along the verges of Atlantis, smoothing around the border of the ocean to where the city began. Magic as vast as the city itself was second nature to me after all this time. I raised a smaller shield, a simple pane of energy, against the floodwaters, to protect the city.

"What d'you think a place on the water would go for?" I asked Voldemort.

The Dark Lord gazed at me with something akin to raw, seething hatred, and raised his wand against me. "Harry Potter, you—"

"Say," I cocked my ear toward the city, "can you hear that?"

Screams rose from the long lost city of Atlantis.

Thousands of people, wizards and witches, and no doubt Muggles, had been trapped inside a single second in time after being dragged across ten millennia. Upset probably didn't quite convey how they felt about that, if they understood it at all.

Voldemort flicked his wand and took to the sky, flying on his wisps of dark shadow into and between the mighty skyscrapers. He was heading for the centre tower, the Seat of Power, all-a'glower.

I hesitated. What would I find in this city? A council of Lords, of which I considered myself the Highest and Last – but alive and well. Wizards of unknown power, thrown through time, into a world they couldn't possibly grasp. Would-be allies? Or would they see us as primitive? Lacking?

I didn't know. And it did not matter. For the sake of this world, my time, I had not only unleashed the city against the modern planet, but unleashed a demon against the city. Voldemort ran unchecked.

"Ha!" I cried, pushing up from the beach with my knees, and took flight after the Dark Lord. I really needed some shoes—and my goddamn Captain's hat back.

* * *

><p><em>This world isn't meant to be okay.<em>

* * *

><p>Atlantis didn't seem to fit. No, that wasn't quite right.<p>

Half the city had materialised in the Irish Sea. The rest had crushed Blackpool, down past South Shore, and most of the M55 Motorway. Crushed wasn't quite the right word either. It had appeared where Blackpool used to be. Absorbed the space.

Cutting through metal, concrete, earth and stone alike, the city had emerged on its original foundations. Which was why it was still standing, I suppose. Apart from the ocean on its doorstep, which was held back by my mini-shields, for the most part, Atlantis could have been built here, for all the damage the ten thousand year journey through time had done to it.

I flew toward the centre tower, stretching a good mile above the earth. Of Voldemort there was no sign. I had assumed he was heading this way, but I couldn't spot him on the horizon. _Already inside?_

Below me, the streets were a lot less panicky than I had been expecting. Travelling through time would throw anyone off their kilter—well, not me—but your average Joe, and if anything, there was order to the chaos below. The city was ablaze here and there, which accounted for the screams, urgent screams, not of fear.

Huh.

The great heart of the city rose up before me like a spike piercing the sky. A dark building, wreathed in mythril, aglow with a thousand tiny blue spheres of light. I headed up to the roof, to the very plateau that Voldemort and I had used to access another dimension – the realm of the _Fae and Forget_.

The Vault was silent – the runes coursing up and down its obsidian length dull and lifeless. The city would be losing power, I reasoned. It was no longer built over rivers of raw magic. Interesting.

There were two wizards guarding the entrance down into the tower. They held mighty twisted staffs with glowing red crystals embedded in the wood. I could smell the ocean on the air as I clenched my wand and strolled between them like I owned the damn place. They didn't try and stop me. One even gave me a small bow.

Again… huh.

I had spent years in this tower at one point, one life, searching for hidden magic and long lost secrets. It was the home of the Atlantean government, I had discerned, and they held court in a large central chamber overlooking the entire city. I headed that way.

_Where was Voldemort?_ I rubbed at my scar. It was burning, but not as if the Dark Lord were close. Did he have other plans? I shuddered to think about that. Here I was about to play ambassador with wizards ten thousand years dead…

I past more and more wizards and witches, robed in old Atlantean garb, as I moved through the mythril corridors and along stairwells, following tracks of fading runes. None of them tried to stop me.

"Hi there," I said. "Beautiful day outside. Yes. Hello. Hey. Of all the cities…"

Half-concealed whispers in a language utterly foreign, and not heard in over a hundred centuries, followed in my wake. I felt… expected. Yeah, expected was about right.

And worrying. I rounded a corner and all at once:

The Chamber of the High Lords of Atlantis.

I felt as if trumpets should have announced my arrival, as scantily clad elven women serenaded me. As it was, the massive mythril doors were wide open, and I found the High Lords in session, arrayed on a semi-circular stone pedestal fifteen-feet above the wide, rune-strewn floor.

It reminded me of Courtroom fuckin' Ten, below the Ministry in London.

I couldn't get over how little dust there was – how whole and undamaged the city was.

My steps echoed in absolute silence as I entered the massive hall. It was bigger than it had any right to be, inside the monumental tower. Magically expanded. The vaulted ceiling was so high, and enchanted to reflect the sky above – like the Great Hall. A great window of clear glass looked out over Atlantis, its skyscrapers and busy streets.

I let out a low whistle that echoed back and forth along the cathedral-like chamber. Thirteen stony faces gazed down at me from their distinct pedestals. Behind me, seating rose back away from the door in levels. There were thousands, _tens of thousands_, of people gazing down at me. I was on display for half of Atlantis to see.

"Good morning," I said. The floor beneath me was aglow with runes. I stood on a circular platform, raised a foot above the floor. Obviously meant for a speaker, as my voice was amplified to every far-flung corner of the massive hall. "I just flew in from out of town, and boy, are my arms… tired."

In the very centre of the thirteen High Lords stood an old man – and yes, he did have a flowing silvery beard, wise, weary eyes, and the most intricately designed staff I had ever seen. Crystals, mythril, wrapped within the gnarled oak. It looked heavy.

I could smell magic on the air – the taste of something ancient, of something important and powerful.

The old man radiated power, an air of strength I found honestly surprising. He slowly brought his hands together, a single clap echoing into nothing. And then again.

He clapped a third time and genuine laughter burst from his mouth. He clapped harder, faster – a round of applause. The other High Lords followed, and then the thousands of people disappearing up above the chamber at my back.

"It wasn't that funny," I muttered, unable to prevent a grin as I stood at the heart of the applause. "Thank you, yes. About time someone gave me a pat on the back for doing this job."

After long minutes the applause faded away, and the old man with the awesome staff raised his hands for silence. The Chamber regained its quiet, ominous void-like atmosphere.

"Harry Potter," the old man said. "You are made welcome to Atlantis."

He spoke to me in perfect, fluent English. Which should not have been possible.

Fuck, something was up.

* * *

><p><em>Gravy, baby.<em>

* * *

><p>"You know me?"<p>

"Aye," the old man said. "I am High Lord Astaroth, Supreme-Infernal and King of Atlantis. It is through the dedication and diligence of this council that you stand before us undefeated – Harry Potter, our greatest accomplishment, the First and Last Warrior of Time."

"Okay, sure." I glanced up and around, at the thousands of eyes staring at me. A trickle of unease shivered down my spine. "You're going to have to explain this for me, chief. I'm not keeping up."

"You were a pillar, lad," High Lord Astaroth said. "A bottle cast on the turbulent seas of time, anchored after a thousand years to the Infernal Clock. We used you to pull this great city across the aeons – to a time when the demonic armies of Hell were vanquished beyond the Fae and Forget." He raised his palm toward me in appellation. "You have done well, and so I name you Time Warrior and Friend of Atlantis. You will be commended."

"Commended," I said. So many questions—_English? How? Time…_ "Done… well. Friend."

"Yes. Your efforts have saved millions of lives—Atlantis survives—and we will rebuild. You must tell us of the world today, of your governments and—"

It made some sort of morbid sense. Time wasn't to be looked at as cause and effect, not a series of linear events… but as a whole, a sphere of ordered chaos—that the wise or the foolish could play with, rearrange, even, or unmake.

"A thousand years. I thought it was my own doing, all me… but you were fucking with me from the start, weren't you? Oh my yes." I couldn't seem to focus anymore. A red haze was bleeding across my vision. "Twenty-two thousand four hundred and eighty seven. That's how many times I had to die." I chuckled. "Now you have made me very, very sad, Astaroth." My laughter died. I looked ahead, at nothing. "You… you really shouldn't have done that."

"What we did, we did for the greater good. For a meaning that far outweighs the suffering of one wizard."

"Keep talking. Just… keep talking. Son of a bitch, I came here to _warn_ you."

"We have something for you. Something you lost."

"Oh?"

Astaroth clapped his staff against the marble column and, from behind his pedestal, stepped an old—very old—woman. She limped toward me, a warm smile on her face and tears in her eyes. It was only a distance of about fifteen feet, but it took her a good two minutes to shuffle to my platform.

In her hands she held a wooden box.

"Harry Potter," she whispered. "Harry Potter."

It was a simple box, inlaid with golden runes. The old woman held it in the air before me. When I made no move to take it, Astaroth waved his staff and the latch clicked open, the lid rose on quiet hinges to reveal—

"…No."

_Oh sweet unholy hell—no!_

It would be quite impossible to describe the rush of chaotic emotion that _flooded_ my mind in that moment. The sheer terror that came from understanding—from understanding, after so long, why…

Within the box, looking resplendent on a red velvet pillow, was a bloodied and dirtied old hat.

My Captain's hat.

* * *

><p><em>The original and the best.<em>

* * *

><p>"Where?" I snatched up my hat. It felt old, worn… lost. "No, I know where. God save me, but I do. Astaroth, you and I are going to have some fucking words later."<p>

I disapparated.

The wards fought me, fought me harder than any old Ministry wards. The strength of them was surprising, and I almost bounced right off and into a million tiny little splinched pieces, but that didn't happen.

I surged through the invisible screens and tangled nets, shattering them in my wake. Once more across the face of the world, dear friends, once more.

Back to Russia.

Back to Mount Narodnaya.

Back to sweet Tessa, and where I had left my awesome hat not even a day ago.

Terrible thoughts came to me now, more than ever before. How had Atlantis gained my hat? More important than how, was _when._ There was only one real answer to that, and it didn't end happy. A hazy outline of that answer was forming in my mind… I pushed it back.

Action now. Thought and soul-eating regret later.

When I got there, I found the monastery in flaming ruins and a swirling purple time vortex eating away at the mountainside.

I took that in all at once.

Then had to sit down, and take it all in again.

The old castle-like monastery had fallen. Rubble, less than rubble, and great chunks of stone burning with soft, malicious blue fire littered the courtyard. The flames burned across the snowy plateau. Melted ice ran in chaotic rivulets over the edge of a cliff face. Within the ruins, the Healer witches, broken and dead. Cast aside. Women and girls alike.

But what really drew my eye was the vortex of spinning, purple energy cutting through the mountain. It was at least a quarter mile wide – and half as high again. A long, thin window into the void. Within the maelstrom, within the font of magic, spun time itself.

If there was one thing I knew, it was time. I could smell it, taste it. A swirling river of time unleashed, devouring rock and earth and air and life—

"She said you'd figure it out," Chronos said, taking a seat next to me on the wet, cold ground. He was weeping – tears as real as the sky and the clouds, as the burning corpses scattered around me, cut tracks down his stubbled cheeks. "I hoped you wouldn't, that you'd have… more time. Heh, but time is the last thing you need, Harry James Potter, yes, yes? You have had a thousand years to prepare yourself for what is now to come."

"Tessa…" I said. "Did you do this?"

Chronos sighed. He brushed flecks of burning ash from his fine suit. "Yes, I suppose I did. In part. But then in part, so did you, Harry Potter. We are both of us puppets, pulling one another's strings. Dancing to the same old tune, the first chords of which were plucked here—now—and ten thousand years ago. In old Atlantis."

"What is that?" I asked, waving at the rolling, rippling vortex of raw time. "Who opened it? You?"

Chronos cast a glance at me from the corner of his eye. He placed his hand on my shoulder. "Tessa did it, you old man. Tessa as she stands today."

"Bullshit. She's a Muggle. Not a drop of magic in the kid."

"Come now – you've been alive long enough to know that nothing is certain, nothing is forever. Moreover, you've been alive long enough to have figured most of this out. It's why you're crushing that hat in your mythril fist."

I blinked and looked down at the oh so awesome, the hum-diddy-hum-dum, the make-mine-a-scotch-and-Coke-and-hold-the-Coke… Captain's hat. It was old now, as if it had seen some times. How had Astaroth, the Atlanteans, gifted it to me? They were time-locked a second after arriving in the present day. Before that, they all died ten thousand years ago… and I had left the hat in this very monastery not a day past.

Chronos was right. I did know the answer. And it was awful.

"I refuse to accept this," I said, gaining my feet. I was still dressed in a half-assed transfigured pair of jeans and a black polo. Time Warrior, I did not look. Nevertheless, I drew my wand. "I'll go back – I'll use the Time Turner, or something, and _force_ that unwieldy ass-bitch to rewrite history."

"Did you just call Time an unwieldy ass-bitch?"

I ignored him. "If Voldemort can break the laws of magic, tear his soul asunder and side step into realms of forgotten power… then I can have this. I can undo this."

"Even if you could, you undo the last _thousand_ years. Your work, your efforts. The very reason the world still turns at all. Atlantis falls, and Harry Potter dies a scared, young man at the hands of a blind Dark Lord."

"Fuck you. No, seriously, _fuck you_." I grasped Chronos's shoulder and squeezed—

"No." Chronos pushed me back – pushed me _away_ and snarled. "Harry, what you have never learned is that it was never enough to just be _against_ what Voldemort stands for. You have to stand for something better. Or else it gets this out of hand! The world gone mad again and again and _AGAIN!_" He took a deep breath. "Until you learn that, well—sad song stuck on repeat, baby."

"You did this—you did _nothing_ to stop it. You and Saturnia, wherever that whore is, are responsible. Tessa would still be alive—"

"She's gone, Harry." Chronos opened his clenched fist. A single white petal, as hard as diamond, fell from his lacerated palm. A petal of the Infernal Clock. One of the few he had removed from Fleur, saving her life, if I had to guess. "I used the petals to open a door back to Atlantis, as it was, ten thousand years ago. I sent Tessa through… with that very hat you hold now."

_See it now, lad?_ I could hear Astaroth's aged, powerful voice. _A bottle cast on the turbulent seas of time, anchored after a thousand years to the Infernal Clock. We used you to pull this great city across the aeons – to a time when the demonic armies of Hell were vanquished beyond the Fae and Forget._ Anchored through a hat? And the petal in my heart, no doubt…

That did not matter. I'd survive.

Tessa had been sent back into a war of impossible forces—alone and injured, with naught but a fool's cap.

"Then I'll follow her." I stepped forward to do just that, ready to swan dive into the vortex. "Damn this world."

"You are many things, but a fool, Harry?" Chronos chuckled. He didn't try to hold me back. He didn't need to. "Well, yes, a fool—but not now. Look how unstable it is, how lost. You could end up a million years ago, or a million from now. Given your luck, you'll appear in the dead space before the Earth even formed. Just dust and starlight and one time-fucked old man. There's no following Tessa. This was _meant_ to happen. The laws of time, laws you cannot fight, made it happen."

"But she _matters_. She matters to me." Whining now. I was better than this – I had to be.

"And she lives, Harry. She lives right now. Today. You know that. Follow this path to where it leads. The answer is there."

And the hell of it was, the answer _was_ there. Again, I could taste it. Smell it. The terrible, terrible truth (_was there any other kind of truth, may it damn ya well?_) like a well-aimed kick to the balls.

There was no hiding from it. No rest or quarter for the wicked.

"Saturnia," I said. The name sounded like a sigh. I suddenly felt every one of my thousand years, like a noose pulled tight around my neck. "Tessa… is Saturnia."

Chronos smacked me in the jaw. "Harry Potter," he said. "At long last. _Chicka-chow!_ What terrible power could Hell have if those trapped here could not dream of heaven, hmm?"

I fell to my knees, spat out a tooth, and laughed until I cried.

And then I just cried.

* * *

><p><em>If I were a man of principle, this would all seem a touch unfair.<em>

* * *

><p>Fate.<p>

Providence.

An overabundance of free will (_Tessa, I'm sorry) _disguised as prophecy.

I can't escape any of those bitches… no matter how long I live or how many miles I run. _The quick and the slick, boss, but this too shall pass._

"Dry your eyes, princess," I whispered. Why was I kneeling in the dirt and ruin on this day of destiny? I found my feet once more.

I was alone atop Mount Narodnaya. Chronos had vanished, the time vortex had snapped shut, and the day was bleeding towards early twilight. Just me and the corpses of the lady Healers to watch the sun set. Always the innocent to pay the price for everyone else's ambition.

There was stink of old magic and blood on the air. The wind whistled through the not-so-distant mountain peaks. The melted snow had hardened into dark ice.

Tonight, Atlantis was set free. The implications of that were almost too amazing to fathom.

"Not as amazing as you, Tess…"

The Urals looked barren and lifeless. Cragged plateaus and sheer cliff faces disappearing over the horizon. I could have been the only old man left alive on the face of this good earth, but there was a whole world of trouble out there. _Troubled times and troubled minds, battles for independence to be won…_

As best as I understood it, Tessa was Saturnia.

Tessa, my sweet Tessa. A girl I had loved for a few short years two or three thousand lives ago. One loses count, after so long. She had been used against me – by Chronos, by the Atlanteans. My own doing, really. Chronos was right about that.

"The Infernal petal… would have given her my memories." Just like it did Fleur. Only Chronos had given her the petal, not taken it away. Ten thousand years and a spike of the Infernal Clock? Is that how Tessa would become Saturnia? There had to be more to it. Fleur had remained herself, mostly.

The jagged, angry scar in my side twinged. The kiss Saturnia had given me at the same time as that scar felt strangely familiar now. Like love-long-ago. Or regret. Mostly regret.

_Sly son of a gun._

It made sense. It made too much sense after all this time. Why does everything I touch turn to angry dust?

For all that mattered, I had killed Tessa myself. By loving, by making her a target for the forces aligned against me… I had killed her. She lived, yes, as a powerful demigoddess forged through trial and circumstance ten millennia ago. But that wasn't Tessa. Not my Tess.

My Tessa had been innocent and ignorant of magic.

"Fuck," I said. "Fuck-fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck." There was no way to fix this. I could alter time but never reality. Fight fate but never destiny.

The last thousand years had been just a warm up for these final days. Tessa begets Saturnia. Chronos begets… I shook my head. Cause and effect could go take a flying fu—

I was wracked with vicious coughs. Kneeling over, I spat up some more blood and had to hold a hand to my glasses to keep them steady. All this bitter reflection, withered hindsight, was getting me nowhere. I felt angry.

Really, really angry. _Apocalyptically_ angry. And yet, it was a quiet anger. A much deserved anger. At long last, my life finally felt like it was coming to a close.

Atlantis would pay for what it had done.

Voldemort, whatever he was up to, would find me renewed by this latest blow.

I picked up my old Captain's hat and placed it firmly atop of my magnificent head.

Time to go see my tailor.

* * *

><p><em>You know what you are, Harry?<em>

_You are fear in the eye of the Devil._

* * *

><p>"<em>Hey Jude, don't make it bad… take a sad song and MAKE IT BETTER!"<em>

The sizeable double doors of the Chamber of High Lords were barred against me upon my return to the Lost and Found City. An intricate system of locks and magically enhanced wards—

A flick of my wand and the doors slammed back against the huge mythril walls. I strolled into the impossibly large chamber, enchanted sky overhead, thirteen High Lord pedestals arrayed before me—and the government of Atlantis in session.

"_Na-na-na-nanananaaaa! Na-na-na-naaa—HEY JUDE!"_ The buttons on my latest suit were fine metal studs. They gleamed in the mythril-drenched light. Behind me, the auditorium seating wasn't nearly as full as it had been a few hours ago. Hundreds, not thousands.

After a thousand years, I knew how to make an entrance.

The High Lords fell silent at my approach. Aides floating on tiny silver platforms, fifteen feet above the floor, surrounded them. Rolls of parchment fluttered through the air. I could smell ink and dense, thick magic. It tasted like sea salt.

"Forgive me for intruding, Astaroth," I said, interrupting their old Atlantean speech, "but I have come for the city. You will turn command of Atlantis and all its fancy resources, military or otherwise, over to me."

The Supreme-Infernal (whatever in the seven hells that was…) and King of Atlantis regarded me with steepled fingers disappearing into his bushy beard, just below his chin. He made a small sound in the back of his throat – not a growl, more as if he were swallowing something unpleasant.

"Harry Potter, there is much we must discu—"

"No. No discussing. No reasoning or barter, no negotiation or arbitration. You will surrender. This city is mine by right—by life and blood and a thousand years spent defending it from an insane Dark Lord. Give it to me or I _will_ take it."

I brandished my wand, cutting a line of flame down through the air to punctuate my words.

The other High Lords (and High Ladies) looked to Astaroth. The old wizard rose from his podium and spread his arms wide, as if to beseech me. His intricate staff shone with a faint white light.

"Harry, you are upset. I understand, I do. Atlantis is your home now—you need not take it by force." His smile faded. "Nor could you. Your stick is a pitiful excuse for a wizard's staff. Weak, brittle, and small."

"And the wand ain't much to write home about either. Heh. Dick joke." Size didn't matter anyway. Quality, not quantity. I flashed the King of Atlantis a winning smile. "Astaroth, you are face to face with the man who sold the world. Be very careful."

"Threats, now? Hmph. I must ask you to depart, Time Warrior—"

"Stop calling me that. _I _call me that, and even I know it sounds pretty lame." I sighed. "Now your crown, if you please. Or I will have to take it from you with this here fightin' stick."

"We owe you a great debt, Harry Potter." Astaroth levitated down toward me from on high—he could fly then… that was some high level stuff—and placed his hand on my shoulder. "You may have the finest rooms in this tower. Gold, mythril, and the respect and admiration of the powerful and influential. Do not pursue a course of folly. Do not cast aside all that you could become."

"Tessa taught you to speak English, didn't she? Or did you monsters pull it from her mind when she awoke here scared and alone ten thousand years ago? Had she seen the Wastelands of Time, Astaroth? Did the Infernal Clock take her sanity and twist her heart into something demonic? Oh I think it did. Yes, yes indeed. Saturnia was born in these hallowed, shiny halls, wasn't she…?"

Astaroth's face paled and he crossed his staff against his chest. "Do not mention her name, you fool! To draw her attention, even after all the millennia, is unwise. She will have faded from the world by now, yes. But words can cast power on the forgotten."

That made me blink—surprise and shock warred across my face. "You think so, do you? Damn. You're not wise, you're not powerful. No, no. You're as much a fool as Scrimgeour, as Fudge. Perhaps even as much a fool as me."

Something close to fear buried itself in Astaroth's eyes. "She lives? The demon-goddess? After all this time…"

"There's a war coming, Astaroth. A war to end all wars—you fled from one hell straight into another. There's a greater demon out there, in the night, who will turn you and all you love to dust before allowing a power such as Atlantis to rise."

And as if that was his cue, a sickening darkness stepped sideways out of nothing. The enchanted ceiling overhead died, and the hundreds of people throughout the hall gasped—groaned—as the weight of raw dark magic descended against the chamber.

"The city is mine," Voldemort said softly. He formed the third point of a triangle between Astaroth and myself.

"High Lord Astaroth." I laughed, gesturing to the smoke and shadows. "Allow me to introduce the Dark Lord Voldemort. He's a bit of an asshat."

"Phantoms!" Astaroth barked.

What happened next impressed even me. A dozen men and women _appeared_. Simply appeared around myself and Voldemort. There was no apparation, no invisibility cloaks or disillusionment charms. They appeared holding curved scimitars inscribed with glowing runes.

Phantoms—the Atlantean equivalent of Aurors, unless I missed my guess. They looked a _helluva_ lot more dangerous than your average Auror. Their black garb made me think of silent assassins.

I raised my wand.

"If you fight, Harry, you will lose." Astaroth turned to Voldemort. "And you, Voldemort—" he had trouble getting his tongue around the word. He pronounced it V_eld_ermart. "—are not welcome here. I command you to depart."

"You," Voldemort said, looking down his nose at the king, "command nothing." He flicked his wand and a wave of force strong enough to shatter the old man where he stood shot through the air—

Astaroth raised his staff and the force was absorbed into nothing. I could feel the heat and the friction of the magics combined. It dissipated into bright light. The Phantoms took this attack against their king poorly.

Curse light flowed along the _length and around _the curved blades of their swords. They moved in close at the same time, all twelve of them, against Voldemort.

The Dark Lord stood his ground and moved with a speed even I would struggle to match. His wand cut a bloody path through the air, striking curses as fast as thought. Sparks and spheres of devastating potential flickered into existence all around Voldemort, and he set the deadly magic to work.

Four of the Phantoms were caught by his speed—and simply exploded into clouds of red mist. The rest pummelled Voldemort with their swords and spellwork. The less-than-human son of a bitch absorbed the magic. The curses, as they never did, had no effect. His robes were torn by the blades and thick, dark light burst from a dozen slashes along his pale skin.

Voldemort laughed and disapparated.

I dived back and away from the heart of the storm—I knew what was coming.

Screams.

Heat.

That old familiar tang of magic turned to chaos.

Death on the air.

The High Lords were shouting and descending from their pillars, staffs aloft and protective magics swirling about them. The hundreds of people in the auditorium seating turned and fled.

Demonic flame, as black as night, burst from the spheres of light Voldemort had left in his wake. Hideous, mangled creatures formed in the not-light, the absence of light—and turned to rip and tear anything they could sink their burning teeth in to.

I cut my wand down, muttering under my breath, to dispel the horrific constructs, and was promptly attacked by three of the Phantom guards.

They turned against me, shooting beams of unknown magic along their blades. I raised a shield and spun on the spot, disapparating through the broken ward schemes and reappearing twenty feet away.

I found myself back to back with Voldemort, deflecting curses and streams of vicious light across the vast hall.

By simple default, we were protecting one another against an onslaught of unfathomable strength. The sheer absurdity of that would have been funny if it wasn't so ridiculous.

I tried deflecting one of the curses over my head and into the Dark Lord, but it left my side exposed. A sizzling bolt of crimson energy caught me low, blasted a burning hole in my suit and knocked me sideways. Hot blood oozed down my side, chased by splinters of pain.

A tip of my hat to whoever fired that.

Voldemort's burning dark magic constructs were decimating the rank and guard of the Phantoms. Unable to dispel them, the Phantoms drew back around the High Lords and extended a purple undulating shield that sparked against the demonic fire.

A flurry of magic from Voldemort had me dodging fire and liquid metal flowing through the air. It was too hot to draw breath, too damn magical to do anything but duck and weave.

"Having fun, Harry?" Voldemort called after me. "_AVADA KEDAVRA!_"

His old favourite. The heat disappeared under that freezing emerald wave of death. I kept low, diving behind one of the High Lord's abandoned pillars. The curse blew chunks of enforced stone from the column. Plumes of dust clouded the flames, obscuring the Dark Lord.

The Phantoms had not remained on the defensive. More armed wizards were pouring into the chamber through the great entrance doors. Their magic may not have been able to dispel the demonic fire, but the blades themselves, inscribed with runes of power, tore the beasts asunder.

There was true power in those sword-wands.

I grit my teeth, clenched my fist around my wand, and made to rejoin the fight. Voldemort would not chase me in to a corner—I could not allow that. The dust and the smoke obscured a lot of the chamber.

I had lost sight of the Dark Lord.

There were sounds, screams, and curse light streaming across the expanse of the hall. The High Lords were chanting in unison, their staffs directed at Astaroth in the heart of his shield.

I stood up straight and winced as what felt like a good pint of blood drained from my side. The damage looked a lot worse than it felt. I tried to stymie the flow, but the cut was too clean, too deep.

"Fuck it," I said. "You know what, just fuck it. I'm too tired and old for this shit."

Oh wow. There was so much _clarity_ in those words. Why stay and fight another fight? Why bleed and die for Atlantis?

After what these bastards did to me, to Tessa… they deserved Voldemort.

Astaroth met my gaze from behind his impressive shield. I inclined my head, winked, gave him a half-wave with a bloody hand…

And then disapparated away—because fuck them all.

* * *

><p><em>I thought you died alone. A long, long time ago.<em>

* * *

><p>Bleeding, dizzy, and in need of yet another new suit, I reappeared in the grand Shipyards of Atlantis. A mile away, the battle still raged up near the top of the tower scraping the sky. I could not care less.<p>

The docks were flooded—deserted—under a good five feet of water from the Irish Sea. Last time I had been here, only a few short weeks ago in another dimension, the docks had been flooded not with water but with dust.

Oh memory. Sweet, bitter memory.

I walked on the surface of the water, Christ-style, disturbing a few seagulls that were bobbing along.

Inside the Shipyards hangar I found a fleet of pristine and untouched battleships. I had crashed my last ship, the _Reminiscence_, into Hogwarts. There had been no hope of ever claiming another. Until now.

And this was just one of many battle groups dotted about the city.

A rather large and impressive ship floated on nothing but air, tethered to the dock by a mythril anchor. Bigger than the _Reminiscence_ had been, she looked strong and reinforced—ready for battle. She had not had ten thousand years in which to wither away.

"You're a pretty one," I whispered. My silver hand was stained crimson. I limped up the deck, along the gangplank, and gave myself permission to board the brand new shiny battleship.

The control column was immaculate. The crystals aglow with raw potential. I had spent decades figuring out how to fly these magnificent creations, once upon a time, and that was after having to repair them from scratch.

The ship was sensitive enough that it responded to my thoughts. I left bloody smears along the interface. _So much for Atlantis_, I thought. This was what I really needed. A ship, the heavens, and to be left alone.

Freedom.

To regret, to remember. To love lost memories.

I commandeered the mighty vessel and took to the sky.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**_ _Ugh, this chapter too it out of me. But as promised, inside two weeks. The next may take a touch longer – there is some real life stuff that requires my attention. Gotta see a man about a dog._

_How did we like the revelations? Finally an answer after several hundred thousand words of questions! Tessa, sweet Tessa, what have you done?_

_Love to hear your thoughts in a review. Did it work? Does it make sense?_

_In other news, you may soon be able to purchase an original novel written by me, Motherfuckin' Joe, hopefully in time for Christmas. If you think this story is good, wait till you see something I've had a chance to polish to perfection. Fingers crossed for that soon!_

_Ciao,_

_Joe._


	10. Chapter 9:  Of Lemon Trees On Mercury

_**Disclaimer:**__ Somebody get me out of here! Get me the fuck right out of here!_

_**A/N:**__ Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. A bit of a gap between updates, I know, but chalk that up to writing my thesis and making sure the last 4 years at university weren't a waste of time. Still, you guys reading shouldn't have to wait any longer. Here's a smooth 5,000 words or so, hammered out to perfection over the last few days. Read and review,_

_-Joe_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Harry Potter and the Heartlands of Time<strong>_

_Chapter Nine – Of Lemon Trees On Mercury_

_I doubt I'm any wiser than I was five hundred years back. I'm older. I've been up, and been down, and been up again. Have I learned aught? I've learned from my mistakes, but I've had more time to commit more mistakes._

_~Hob Gadling_

I shifted my shiny new battleship into cruise mode at an altitude of four thousand feet. A steady climb to seven thousand was the plan, but I was feeling dizzy—hunger, fatigue and blood loss—mainly bloody loss—probably had something to do with that.

It took me a few minutes to find the captain's quarters below deck, but find them I did and took a moment to have a seat on the edge of a plush bed. The room was bigger on the inside. Laws of space and physics having taken a flying fuck out the window, as was their way when it came to quality magic.

I coughed, keeping a hand pressed hard against my side where that Phantom curse had slashed me good and proper.

"Son of a bitch," I whispered, peeling my hand away to assess the damage. Some of the blood had dried under my palm, sticking my fingers to my side. Pulling it off felt like tearing out nose hair. With a chainsaw. "Damn…"

It looked worse than it felt. Or felt worse than it looked. I couldn't decide. Just another scar for the pile, when all was said and done. Somehow I found myself lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Just a quick rest. Five minutes and then I'd go hit up Madam Pomfrey for some of that pro-healin'.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was a balance to all of this, I supposed. Atlantis and Voldemort. One battleship for another. Scar for scar. Life for life for death for life. Oh, Tess…

Yes, the universe was balance. Unfair fucking balance. But then… for all the wounds and deaths I'd died, shouldn't there be an equivalent amount of _good_ events coming my way?

Probably not. Balance, it may be, but the scales tended to tilt against fair. Never in my favour. Somewhere some lucky son of a bitch was getting a blowjob and enjoying a steak and scotch while I bled to death.

The thought made me laugh.

Why was the room spinning? Why were the sheets beneath me soaked red?

And who was turning out the lights…

* * *

><p><em>I've seen so many things. Old mistakes, brand new ways.<em>

_One last time._

* * *

><p>I woke up with a cool, damp cloth pressed against my forehead—which felt great against my ever-burning scar—and was fairly certain I had died.<p>

But death was never quite so painful.

I took a deep breath, remembering to do so came as a surprise, and tried to focus in the half-light. Burnt azure radiance through the porthole, the sun at day's end, cast the cabin in a healthy orange glow.

There was an old woman—really old—washing the dried blood from my stomach.

"Hello, Harry," she said.

The wound in my side had been cleaned and wrapped. Not magically healed, just wrapped. "Hi there…" I recognised her, but from where? Memory, for me, was an uncertain thing.

"You came close to losing everything, you silly boy," the old woman chided.

Her English was accented, like Astaroth's had been. She was Atlantean. I placed her from that. She had been the old woman who had presented me my captain's hat in the Lords' Chamber.

"How did you find me?" I asked. There was a glass of clear ice water on the bedside table. I took a long, desperate gulp, trying to soothe the raw, ragged flesh in the back of my throat.

"I was already aboard when you stole this fine ship." She laughed; her thinning grey hair fell in careful strands about her face. Her eyes were sharp, clear. I had a terrible thought. "You're more predictable than you like to think, Harry Potter."

"I know you, don't I?"

She nodded and put aside her bloody cloth to sit on the bed. Her weight barely made the covers crease. She must have been skin and bone, next to nothing, beneath her fine yellow robes. "Yes you do, hero."

"…I want to say it, but I don't know if I quite believe it." There was a younger face behind the old age lines and wrinkles. A lovely face, lost to time not that long ago.

"Say it anyway, Harry. We're both old enough to believe anything, are we not?"

I was the oldest man alive, all things considered. "Tessa, is that you?"

Tessa grinned. She was missing a few teeth, and her skin was spotted and wrinkled. But in that smile I saw the girl she had been. Just yesterday, a few centuries ago, and ten thousand years past. Seeing that smile, I forgave myself just a bit. Not for everything, but a bit just the same.

It was her. I didn't quite know how, but there was always something I didn't know.

"You old soldier, I thought you would have forgotten about me."

"Easier to forget the stars, or my own reflection, than to forget you."

"I never thought I'd see you again. And yet there you were, all of Astaroth's planning come to fruition. Alive and defiant before the Crystal Throne of Atlantis itself. Harry Potter, undefeated. So much time and war and the eyes of an old man in the face of a child."

"I was at war before I was born. I was forced to fight a war I didn't start." So very long ago now. "I was an old man before I was fifteen, Tess. Never mind the thousand years that followed. It just… just never seemed fair."

"That's because it wasn't." She patted my leg.

I sighed. "I'm tired, Tess. More tired than I've ever been before."

"That's because you are coming to an end, sweetheart. After everything, you're nearly done."

"Yeah? I'm not getting my hopes up just yet…"

"For good or ill, Harry, you saw it through. No one can ever take that from you."

There was a comfortable silence after that. The only noise was the quite _hum_ of the mighty warship's engines. A small vibration running through the wood, steel and mythril of the hull. I could smell lavender, like in the fields of Provence.

"I'm sorry for what happened to you," I said. It was her, it was my Tessa. From all those lives ago. Ripped from time, across worlds, because this was the last time. The last throw of the dice. The past catching up to haunt me. "That I couldn't stop it. That I was to blame. You deserved better."

"That wasn't for you to decide, Mr Potter."

"Were you happy in Atlantis? Did you have a life there ten-thousand years ago?"

"I met a man named Janus," Tessa said, smiling an old familiar smile. "A brilliant man. So clever. We had a life together, Harry. Because of you. Janus and I spent a long century together. We were happy."

_Janus…_ the man who had built the way to Atlantis. He had killed me, more than once, with his tricks and traps. And he had won Tessa. Good for him. "Well. I'm happy if you're happy."

Tessa smiled. "Liar. You're jealous."

"Love can be ugly like that, sweetheart."

"You love me?"

"For centuries."

"I'm sorry for Saturnia," Tessa said, her smile disappearing. "She is… she was… She is me, you know that."

"I do." It wasn't the biggest revelation of the last few days, but it was pretty high on the fucking list. "What happened?"

Tessa shrugged. "That petal. The crystal rose petal, given to me by a man named Chronos. It kept me alive through the time travel back to Atlantis. But it hurt. Dear God, did it hurt." Her eyes grew distant and haunted, cast back across the greatest of distances. "And then it changed. It buried itself in my heart, right here."

Tessa opened her robes and revealed her wrinkled chest. Between her breasts was a thin line of ropy scar tissue. An old scar, much like the one on my own chest. Scars that followed me through worlds and time. What did it mean? What did it matter?

"At first only I could see her," Tessa said. "It was like looking in the mirror and seeing your reflection wink at you, or raise a hand. She was there, and she could use magic. I never could. Not a drop, my whole life. Saturnia was a part of me, Harry, that grew out of… hate."

"Of me?"

"Yes, of you. Love and hate. She became real, because of that petal. The Infernal Clock granted her life, and she became real. A part of me. She _is_ me. And she wants to hurt you."

"Yes, I know."

"I'm sorry." Tessa sobbed, and tears cut tracks through the lines on her face. "I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, not really."

Could I give forgiveness? Did I have the right? Of course not. My crimes were worse, and Tessa had only become Saturnia because of me. Atlantis was to blame, in part. Astaroth and his merry band of fuckery. No one had forced me to make a deal with the demons of the Fae and Forget. Ah hell…

"Come here," I whispered. "I love you, Tess."

The old woman who had, many lives ago and several hundreds years, loved me and died for me, swung her legs around and got into bed with me once more. Tessa lay in my dried blood and I found myself with an arm around her, drifting across the silent sky.

Déjà vu had _nothing_ on this feeling.

"If I'm responsible for your happiness, then I am responsible for the misery, as well."

"Yes, yes you are. You change every life you touch, Harry. Sometimes not for the better." Tessa sighed. She was so old and so frail. "But you mean well. Let's just lie here for a few minutes… I think my Janus, may he rest in peace, will forgive me five minutes."

So time fell away… minutes, perhaps. Hours, more likely. Enough that the burnt orange sunset purpled to black.

Somewhere between one moment and the next, Tessa's breathing evened and then slowed. She whispered something below hearing, clutching at my ruined shirt, and then sighed against my chest. Her old body was shaking, as if she were cold.

_Full circle_, I thought, pulling her close. _We took the long road, didn't we just?_ She was no longer shaking.

I whispered sweet nothings and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. The frown in her brow relaxed and she sighed once more.

Tessa died in my arms after a long and relatively happy life.

* * *

><p><em>And I didn't let myself feel guilty about it<em>.

* * *

><p>The ship hovered near silent against the heavens, silhouetted across a full moon that hung heavy in the eastern sky as I edged the mighty vessel up alongside the parapets of Hogwarts. With a flick of my wand, I swung the gangplank onto the balcony of the Astronomy Tower.<p>

Dumbledore was there to meet me as I stumbled off the ship, limping and trying not to breathe too deeply. Tessa had saved my life with her bandages, but I was still wounded—painfully so. It needed healing.

"Good evening, Harry," the headmaster said. "I see you've been to Atlantis."

"What gave it away?" I gritted my teeth against a few chortles of painful laughter. "I need… I need to see Madam Pomfrey, sir."

"Of course. I will have her summoned—"

"No, I can walk." Dumbledore knew every inch of this school. I wasn't surprised that he had been here to meet me, as if he had been expecting me. "I want to walk. And talk. Circumstances are much graver than the last thousand years had led me to believe."

Dumbledore offered me his arm—the one that ended in a withered, poisoned hand that would kill him before the school year was out. The pair of us, two tired old men, dying at a dark pace.

"What have you done, Harry?"

"I tried to take Atlantis. Seize the throne for my own nefarious ends… Voldemort showed up and we fought." I frowned. "Actually, no, we didn't. I walked away. I've never done that before."

I filled in the details as we descended through the castle. Dumbledore kept whatever thoughts he had to himself and I soon found myself lying down in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey's hands delicately peeled away the bandages that had dried to the wound in my side.

It hurt to all hell, and judging from the look on Dumbledore's face when the wrappings were removed, it must have looked like it, too.

"Merlin, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said. "How are you still conscious?"

"My sparkling wit and a winning attitude."

"Here, drink this." She handed me a vial of amber liquid.

"Is this Firewhiskey?"

"Of course not. It's a sleeping draught and numbing potion—"

"Oh, then no. No thank you."

Madam Pomfrey stared at me hard—her meanest, most cruellest nursing face. She opened her mouth to say something and I met her gaze with a slow, careful smile. Madam Pomfrey faltered at that. Dumbledore cleared his throat and broke a long moment.

"Very well," the matron said, drawing her wand. "This is going to hurt, Mr. Potter."

"It always does."

An hour later and in considerably better condition than when I had arrived, Dumbledore escorted me back up the Astronomy Tower to my battleship. I'd left the cruiser idling in neutral against the castle and found her humming softly upon my return.

"The Ministry will send an envoy to Atlantis."

"Yes, and they'll find Voldemort sitting on a throne of skulls—or something equally dramatic."

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. I could smell summer rain on the air, and a warm breeze whipped his robes about him. "That… would be surprising," he said. "Tom never did like the power of responsibility. He prefers the shadows, and fear. I cannot picture him governing at the forefront of an entire kingdom."

"Aye, that's true." I shook my head. "Well, I didn't stick around to find out, but it'd be something if Astaroth and those other old bastards managed to drive him out. I don't think so." My scar was burning, and I was tempted to let the Dark Lord in through my mental defences, but given all I'd learnt… No, even I wasn't that mad.

Yeah I was—mad enough to know better, after all the years. If I'd been a dumb sixteen-year-old kid again I'd have let him in. Not now, not after so long.

Dumbledore sighed. "Where to now, Harry?"

_To bury the woman I loved._

"It's twelve dollar steak and pint night at Paddy Malone's in Western Australia. Thought I'd fly on down there and try my luck with one of the wait staff. There's a cute one named Sophie, if memory serves."

Dumbledore chuckled. "And after that?"

"One step at a time. I'm lacking in motivation, at the moment. Need to find it again."

"I know this question does not often apply to you, Harry, and given all that you have seen and done, but… is everything alright?"

"Whoa, that was a very un-Dumbledore thing of you to say." I clapped him on the shoulder and headed back up onto my ship. "I'll be back in a few days, and then we get started on the plan."

"Fly safe, Harry."

* * *

><p><em>Rampant degradation aside, ya done good, kid.<em>

* * *

><p>I flew Tessa home.<p>

Not to Atlantis, but to Australia—to memory.

In the south of the state was a grove of cherry blossom trees that had been left to grow wild—in full bloom this time of year, this far down the face of the earth—and I dug her grave by hand using one of the mythril battleaxes from the ships armoury to clear away the turf, soil and roots.

It was as good a place as any, and she deserved the effort it took—and the time. Time I could not afford. My new battleship hovered just a quarter mile away above the grove, casting a shadow toward the west.

I placed the old woman, swaddled in silk blankets into the grave and shovelled the dirt atop of her, whispering mumbled platitudes and promises to make a difference.

There was a lot riding on that promise this time.

"Time flies," I said aloud. The wind whipped a storm of loose petals around me as I patted the soil down on Tessa's grave and replaced the clods of green grass. "Out of my mind and over my head, Tess."

There was work to be done. A war to be fought and, if I was being honest with myself, most likely lost. Yet I didn't want to leave just yet. There was a smell of Spring on the air, and it was warm here, under the flickering shadows cast by the dusty pink trees above.

So I let the time slip away, because I'd earned a few minutes, if not hours, after clocking up a thousand years of service—service to something I no longer believed in.

Oh.

Oh wow.

"Now there's a realisation I didn't know I was coming too, Tess." I laughed into the wind. "Remember when we came down here all those centuries ago? Spent the weekend drinking red wine and making love? You were too good to me."

"I remember," Saturnia said, stepping out from behind the tree that marked her grave. "You took me to Margaret River and we ate apple pie."

I was kneeling in the earth, my hands covered in soil and blisters. It took more effort than I thought it would to raise my head and meet Saturnia's gaze. "Come to kill me?"

"Not quite your time yet, sweet thing."

I nodded. "Never quite my time, is it?" But was that changing? I hoped so, if I was allowed any hope at all, then I hoped so. "I know you have some right to be here, given your origins, but I would like this moment to wallow in my misery alone, if you don't mind."

Saturnia ran her flawless hand through my hair, scratching my scalp in a way that sent a pleasant tingle running down my spine. She was wearing killer black heels with straps wrapped around her shins, and that familiar red dress I'd first seen in Italy, where she'd stabbed me.

"All things being even, Harry, you haven't done that badly."

"What?"

"It's been a thousand years and you're still alive, still fighting. A thousand years and you still care enough to bury the woman you loved in a place of meaning. That _matters_, don't you see?"

Saturnia knelt down in front of me and undid the few buttons that remained on my ruined shirt. She placed her hand over my heart, across the thin line of ropy scar tissue that had followed me through time. The petal of the Infernal Clock wedged in my chest twitched, and I felt time slow...

The swaying branches of the cherry blossom trees moved as if through treacle, and the falling leaves spun in lazy circles.

"You've been forged across the years, Harry. Forged into something like a god. You never die, not for long, and you command Time itself to do your bidding. I sense that you are faltering—that you may trip at the finish line, as it were—so please remember one thing…"

Despite myself, I sighed as Saturnia kissed me. "What should I remember?"

"You need to remember that… no one likes a whiny bitch. Pick yourself up, Potter, and get to fucking work."

I laughed and time regained its normal flow, at least as far as my perception was concerned. "Saturnia, I think I just fell in love."

"You couldn't afford me, Harry." She stood up and stepped away from the gravesite, being careful not to walk over the actual earth on top of Tessa. "You've a stowaway aboard your battleship, by the way."

"Oh? That'd make two today."

"It is someone that means well, which is what you need right now." Saturnia's smile faded. "What I am is because of you, Harry. I exist because of your actions. I am the consequence of your choices, and because time isn't always a straight line, I am a lot older than you—so listen to me now. Are you listening?"

I gained my feet and licked the taste of mango from my lips—the taste of a demigoddess. "I'm listening."

"You can win. You can defeat me, and Chronos, and Voldemort. You can exact vengeance upon Astaroth and his council of old fools, but it won't make you happy. There won't be a happy ending, not for you, but there can be happiness. Do you understand?"

"There's never been any happiness in what I do." And if those words sounded a touch venomous, it was only because they were poisoned with truth. "The only happiness I've ever found is buried three feet away."

Saturnia smiled. "Just think on it, Harry. Listen to your elders."

"Or what? You'll kill me?"

"Silly boy, I don't need to kill you—you'll kill yourself before the end."

And of that, Saturnia sounded so certain.

* * *

><p><em>If I had to choose, I'd choose regret over ignorance any day of the week.<em>

* * *

><p>I picked a particular pleasant looking blossom from the tree and strolled back toward my battleship, taking the lazy and somewhat scenic route. I had an idea who the mysterious stowaway was, so there was no hurry. The carpet of fallen pink petals on the ground made me think of blood crunched into fresh snow. It wasn't a bad thought.<p>

Saturnia's words had jarred, somewhat, but she was right about one thing. I did have to be on my way. Ever since the arrival of my twenty-two odd thousand corpses I'd been doing very little, given the speed at which the days were flying away from me.

I sorted through the memories in my head and tried to apply them to what I knew now, of this life and unanticipated events like Atlantis. I needed to find out what had happened in that city, whether Voldemort had seized the throne or Astaroth had driven him out. Once I knew that, I could work on the probabilities in my mind, gained over a thousand years… to try and anticipate the Dark Lord.

_Everything will be alright,_ I thought. "Isn't it always?" With a heavy sigh, I apparated thirty feet up and onto my shiny white battleship. Leaning against one of the pristine magical cannons, I twirled the blossom in my good hand and thought deep thoughts.

After a few minutes, I shook my head. "You can come out now!" I called.

Silence, for a moment, and then from the stairs leading down to the galley Hermione, dressed in her Hogwarts uniform—it made her appear so young—emerged, looking both defiant and somewhat sheepish.

"Hi, Harry."

"Hello, Hermione Granger." I grinned. "You didn't have to hide from me, you know. I'm not so far gone as to try and hurt you."

Hermione shrugged, rubbing her hands together as she walked towards me. "It wasn't that, Harry… I snuck aboard at Hogwarts, while you were away with Dumbledore, and then I saw you with that old woman. I felt to intrude would be unkind."

I nodded. "Yes, thank you. It was a moment centuries overdue, and something I deserved to do alone."

"Can I ask who she was?"

"It's a long story, but if you remember that girl who appeared bruised and beaten in the fireplace atop of Mount Sulphur in Banff, where we were having dinner?"

"Yes… of course."

"It was her."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Time… sometimes sucks," I said, and that was more than enough.

I offered Hermione my open arms and we embraced. Separating, I placed the flower from the cherry blossoms below in her hair. "So what brings you aboard the… hmm, I need a name for the ship."

"Did you get this from Atlantis?"

"Sure did. As payment for the last thousand years." It was the least those bastards could do. I'd make them all pay before the end.

"What?"

The sky was so blue overhead that it was almost blinding. Midday under the hot Australian sun. "Nothing. Listen, Hermione—it's always lovely to see you, but there is work to be done—"

"I'm coming with you," she said, almost stamping her foot on the deck as if I'd already told her no.

"Are you? Do you even know where I'm going? You just hopped aboard an old man's battleship in the middle of the night, without Ron, or Neville, or anything… and given what you know of my enemies. Hermione, you're supposed to be the clever one."

"I saw your arrival from the common room. I was worried about you, you twit."

I laughed. "No need to worry. I'm soldiering on."

"You look like you haven't slept in days. When did you last eat, Harry Potter? Can you tell me?"

"Was thinking about getting a steak, actually. So there. You can come with me that far, I guess."

"I'm staying with you, until whatever you're doing is done."

Until I was dead, then. Not too far away, if history rhymed once again. Which, deep down, Hermione must have known. "Suit yourself then. To be honest, I welcome the company. You got your wand with you?"

Hermione patted her pocket. "Of course. So where are we going first?"

"I told you. Steak and chips and scotch. Perhaps some salad with Italian dressing. We're going to the pub, Hermione."

"And after that?"

I raised my mythril hand and let it shine in the sun. "Well, that's when it gets interesting. We're going to go artefact hunting, like I promised back in Banff. We're going to throw ourselves against the wit and wisdom of the greatest minds of the last ten thousands years. Defeat magical traps, break forgotten curses, and explore lost realms… You know what, you made a good choice coming along."

"We're going to do all that?"

"By Tuesday, yes. But I'm thinking maybe we'll recruit a few others for the journey. Voldemort has his army, after all."

Hermione took a deep breath. "This all sounds so exciting, but I still worry for you, Harry."

"Best to just worry about the next five minutes, Miss Granger. And whether you want garlic or peppercorn sauce with your steak.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**__ Okay, so we're back on track. Poor Tessa and Harry. Never mind, aye. A nice segue into further story, and an eventual move for Harry to build his own command centre and fight his wars. Things should move quickly these next few chapters. Hermione will just be the first of many familiar faces we'll see from now on. I'm trying to spin this story back on the characters, while still maintaining the overall plot._

_Thanks for reading, and please review._

_-Joe_


	11. Chapter 10: Into The Rain

**_Disclaimer:_**_ And all of our friends, boss._

_**A/N:** Good news, everyone! I've finished my darn univeristy nonsense for the year, so I'm going to be writing like a mofo. Working on this, another HP fic, and my original stuff which should be out early next year so you can buy it and I can make 30c of each and every one of you! Huzzah! Seriously though, I'm going to be playing the updating game more frequently. You'll see. Now here's a nice 5,000 words to get the ball rolling._

_Read and review!_

_-JOE_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Harry Potter and the Heartlands of Time<strong>_

_Chapter Ten – Into the Rain_

_I was locked up in a crazy place.  
>They found me on the streets, begging for grace.<br>I don't remember, but they say I lost my mind…_

_~Kadison_

"You bend the control column back—this blue crystal here—and the ship ascends. The reverse, you descend. Get it?" I stood behind Hermione as she piloted the ship, and placed my good human hand over hers. "These things were designed to be as simple to operate as possible. It almost responds to thought."

"Yes, I get it. This is quite amazing. Is that Rome in the distance?"

"It sure is. We're going to fly right on by and into France."

"What's in France?"

"Fleur Delacour."

We rocketed through the sapphire sky, well beyond the speed of sound, and yet left no crash in our wake. The wind barely tussled our hair. The enchantments on this pristine battleship were extraordinary. In the past, I'd only ever been able to get the damn thing to fly after repairing it in the ten-thousand-year-old junkyards—and even that had been hit and miss.

Hermione and I flew into yesterday, chasing the night before. The most simplest, purest form of time travel—that of one second at a time—across international date lines.

"You're going to ask Fleur to come with us?" Hermione pondered that for a moment. "Why?"

_Mother of my child. Safer around me now, given the way the world was heading._ "I like having her around. We get on well together."

"Isn't that a bit… selfish?"

"The only reason you are alive, Hermione Granger—the only reason _anyone_ is alive—is because of the 'selfish' choices I've made." I didn't say it with anger, or even petulance. Just stating a fact.

If I'd earned the regret of a millennium of failed chances, then I'd also earned the reason I'd done it in the first place. To save the world from fire.

"Can we go pick up Ron? And Neville? What about Luna, and Ginny? They were all brilliant in the Department of Mysteries…"

"Yes, yes they were." That was a fond memory of long ago, of a time before Time. "Ron and Neville, perhaps. There's a lot to discuss. Luna and Ginny… it never ends well for them, this early in the final play. Throw in the uncertainty of Atlantis and its mad king—they'll be safer at Hogwarts, for now."

Hermione nodded. "The mad king of Atlantis? I thought that was you."

"Ha. It is. Was. I am. Old Atlantis. Eh… His name's Astaroth—you know, like the myth—and he's their king. Their Minister, if you will, but with a whole range of broad and sweeping powers. They are all in my debt, whether they want to admit it or not."

"How so?"

I shook my head. That was a story too convoluted and complex to make any kind of sense. Did I play into their hands or they into mine? We complemented each other, was perhaps the nicest way of putting it. Chicken and egg bullshit, boss. "They've got bigger problems than me though. Atlantis is dying."

"Dying?"

"Dying. Ten thousand years ago the world was a different place, Hermione. There were fonts and streams of magic coursing across and through the planet like rivers. Seams of untapped raw power—magic made real, made liquid fire. Atlantis was built on those fonts."

"Now they're gone."

"Now they're gone." I nodded. "The city may fall, I guess—or Astaroth may be able to save it. It doesn't really matter. We've still tens of thousands of new wizards and witches running around, using ancient forgotten magic. Powerful magic. Hermione, apart from Voldemort, myself and maybe Dumbledore… no modern magical person could hold a flame to what the Atlanteans are capable of."

Hermione frowned. "So you're going to… stop them?"

"If they get in my way."

* * *

><p><em>Waiting for the longest time now. In the beginning, the choices were so broad. So terrifyingly huge.<em>

_To die._

_To travel back. To see the world in a grain of sand._

_Now those choices are done. I can feel it. The last throw of the dice is on the horizon. Death is final this time, for all save me._

* * *

><p>Fleur wasn't home.<p>

Which was worrying, but only mildly so. There were no signs of a struggle, all the wards were intact, and if she were in danger I'm sure I would already know about it. Still, I'd be calling back soon—just to make sure.

Back in the air, I let Hermione fly. Circumstances could arise where I'd be needed as a wand on the deck, fighting off Death Eaters, Aurors and angry Atlanteans. Best if someone else could steer this darn ship.

"Can I tell you something dangerous, Hermione?" I asked, leaning against the control column and watching her concentrate on the horizon. The navigation was easy—we were heading northwest toward Hogwarts, over the English Channel—but she was certain I was lost.

She _tsk_ed. "Oh what now, Harry Potter?"

I opened and closed my mythril hand a few times, searching for the right words. Simple was usually best. Keep it simple, stupid. "Fleur is pregnant, and I'm the father."

The ship plummeted a good half a mile before Hermione recovered. We almost went into a nosedive. I snorted laughter.

"That—that is…" Hermione Granger—lost for words. She was pale, shaking.

"Complicated?" I offered.

"At the very least! Sweet Merlin, Harry, how did that happen?"

I blinked. "The usual way."

"Yes, I'm sure." A faint blush rose in her cheeks. "What I meant was, how could you let that happen?"

I didn't say anything.

Hermione sighed. "I didn't mean it's a bad thing—it isn't, really—but do you think it responsible bringing a child into—well—into _your_ life?"

"Of course not. It's the most stupid, dangerously reckless thing I've ever done. The kid is doomed. But it's Fleur's choice, you know. Her body. It was an accident. We were both bruised and battered in another dimension, and it just… happened."

"You didn't think to use protection?"

I shook my head. "There's been a lot of 'the usual way' over the centuries for me, Hermione. Never once has it resulted in a pregnancy. I thought all the time travel exposure had sterilised me, to be honest. Certain things follow you through time and death, you know. I'm addicted to cigarettes, even though I never smoked before waking up at Privet Drive in this life."

Hermione frowned at the horizon. "So you think this means more than just a mistake?"

I shrugged. "Experience has taught me that when something changes, it's always for a reason. Usually a bad one, with claws and glowing red eyes. Still, I'm not sure."

"What do you think it means?"

"That this is my last life. No more time travel for me. That perhaps Fate is throwing me a lifeline. You know, something to live for… I don't think I believe that, actually. That the child might be important, somehow. I think it could mean anything. Hell, it was conceived in a forgotten realm of mutated magic and its mother was pierced by pieces of Time itself. _Anything_ doesn't even begin to cover it…"

"You're going to be a father," Hermione said. She couldn't keep the smile off her face. "I'd say you're too young, but…"

"I'm too old."

"Yeah."

"Yep."

"You idiot."

Before we reached Hogwarts—indeed, as soon as we cleared the sea and were approaching London—I took the controls and steered the ship west off toward Glastonbury, and the Tor.

The Tor was a holy hill rising stark above the fields of England. It was a place of unknown magical properties, a line of core magical strength stretching back through the Middle Ages. It brought clarity to those who visited, provided thresholds to those in need.

It smelt of lush spring meadows and filled the heart with a sense of resounding purpose.

It was the gate to Avalon.

It was where Merlin had made his last stand against the Bone-Men, and perished in the fires of infernal chaos.

"And it's where Road's Fire is buried, Hermione. The guidebook to the network of portals scattered across the planet. We're going in, and we're going in hard. You with me?"

Hermione squeezed my bicep and offered me a smile that looked out of place on her young face. You could almost believe _she_ had spent the last thousand years watching me fall. "Always."

"Then take the wheel, sweet thing. Land us over there—next to St. Michael's Tower."

* * *

><p><em>I know I'm not alright… because this damn bread is stale!<em>

* * *

><p>I led Hermione to the base of the Tor, alongside some half-buried ruins built by the Romans the best part of two thousand years ago, and didn't waste any time.<p>

Reminiscent of the black obsidian pillars that had marked the gateway to another dimension, and Lost Atlantis, under Italy, I walked with Hermione under a dark arch in the ruins and took her hand.

"Watch this," I whispered, and started tapping my wand against the faint lines etched into the stone, invocating under me breath.

Hermione watched in silence, concentrating on my wand movements and my muttered incantations. In short order, as it had done a hundred times before in a hundred different lives, electric-blue runes flared to life for the first time in centuries.

It started to rain.

Backwards.

A shower of water droplets fell upwards—rose upwards—from the earth. A light shower at first, but then stronger. Hermione and I were soaked in a matter of seconds.

The drops became heavier, and swept our feet out from under us. We fell up into the sky. There was a blinding flash of pure cerulean light—

I stood on a pedestal next to Hermione. It was dark and there was a smell of thick, acrid copper on the air. Like blood, a mouthful of pennies, or raw magic sweeping us below the earth…

Hermione gasped. "Merlin, what was that?"

We were dry, as was the way of portal travel.

"That's right, Merlin," I said. "His design. His portal. It's the only one in the world that works without Road's Fire—because it only leads here. We're under the Tor. Way, way under..."

Hermione blinked against the light I drew from the tip of my wand. It swept outwards in a wide radius, cutting across old stonework and polished marble floors. We were in a vast, cathedral-like space, of which there was no visible end. It was so vast, so huge, that the light died before it reached anywhere of consequence.

Our voices echoed into the blackness, vibrating on air that hadn't seen daylight in forever and a day—and likely never would see it again.

"You never do things by half, do you?" Hermione whispered. "How 'under' are we?"

"Best guess?"

"Hmm."

"Ten miles."

Hermione took a deep breath and shuddered. She glanced up into the darkness overhead. "Is this Avalon?"

"Yes."

"Why's it so far down? In all the books it was always surrounding the Tor. A great city, like London."

I nodded, took Hermione's hand in my mythril construct, and stepped off our pedestal and onto the dusty marble floors. "It used to be on the surface. It used to be alive and vibrant and full of the best intentions… then men, wizards, messed where they ought not to have messed. They unleashed a vanguard of the Bone-Men army I destroyed over London. Merlin…"

I sighed.

"Yes? Merlin what?"

"Merlin fought and died at the Gates of Avalon, sealing the army inside, and using his considerable magical talent, sunk the city below the earth—this far below the earth—and let it die."

Hermione took a moment to absorb that. All around us there was nothing but dust and stone. "That never made it into the history books," she said finally.

"No, it certainly didn't. Merlin made the best of a bad situation, Hermione. He made a choice—kill one city and save the nation, possibly the world. He died for that choice. I guess whoever was left to write his story felt fire and mass-slaughter too unkind an epitaph for the man."

"You don't agree?"

"We make our choices and should be held accountable for them—I certainly have been."

* * *

><p><em>Do you remember the words to this one? Something about livin' for love, not for tears—<em>

"_Madmen, the lot of us."_

* * *

><p>I never strayed from the main thoroughfare through the remains of Avalon. Every so often the path veered away to the left and right, around vast pillars of intricate stonework splattered with scorched ash and old stains that may have been blood.<p>

There were no skeletons, no remains… but the place stank of death-unseen.

"At least when it comes to being remembered… it won't be for all the times I've failed. No one can remember that, save me, and who'll believe me anyway?"

"I believe you—so does Ron, and Dumbledore, too." Hermione stood close, her own wand casting a pale light within the cone of my own.

"You believe me, yes, because you know me. Knew me. You have faith that I'm honest. That I, at least, believe all I told you." I sighed. "And I thank you for that faith, I really do. There have been times when the truth has turned you against me. I'm never certain which way that coin will land."

"Shouldn't it fall the same way, if you tell us the same way?"

I chuckled. "You're looking at time too simply. Or, better, you're looking at yourself too simply. I could probably, with some degree of success, predict an action you will take given prior conditions being met… but predict your thoughts, Hermione? Your heart and your soul?" I shook my head. "Easier to waste a thousand years."

"That's…" Hermione bit her lip.

"Reassuring?"

"Yes. Sorry, but it is. I thought you said you couldn't read thoughts?"

"I can't, but I feel the same way. Despite it all, I'm reassured by the things I can't know. It keeps life real for me, you see. Sometimes I forget it has to matter."

The avenues and walkways of the enormous cavern were deathly quiet. There was nothing. No sound, no drip of water or scurrying of tiny insects. We were the only light, the only noise, in this entire world. That stench of forgotten, invisible death hung like a pall over the dark city.

"Can you feel the weight of this place, Hermione? Not just the ten miles of earth over our heads, but the history. The rise and fall of something that once made a difference in the world." I shook my head. "There are dozens of places like this, scattered across the planet. Probably hundreds—graves of pure folly."

"Harry…"

"You could spend a thousand years searching and not uncover even the smallest fraction of the secrets buried in the depths of this planet. Made by men and wizards, and things before men and wizards." I swept my wand in a wide arc over a delicate mosaic, depicting dragons soaring beneath vast storm clouds. "That's a good thing, I think."

After about ten more minutes of walking in the dark, along streets buried centuries ago, we came to a storefront of no particular consequence. The glass in the windows was warped and coloured, melted in the frame. It was through the disfigured frame that we entered, casting our light over a dilapidated bookshop.

The shelves had long since collapsed, the books—most of them—dust and less than dust. The magical texts, however, were still in workable order. I saw Hermione's eyes light up at one of the old potions book lying under the remains of a wooden table.

"Can I…?"

"Take it if you want it. It'll only lie there until the end of time, otherwise."

Hermione scooped up the book and slipped it under her arm. A waterfall of dust fell from the tome. "Are we nearly there?"

"We're here," I said, and smashed the frail glass in one of the display cases with my mythril hand. "Ta-da!" I held up a small grimoire of black leather, golden-leaf pages, shaped like a crescent moon.

"That's it?" Hermione's shoulders slumped. "Surely not. _That's_ Road's Fire?"

I brushed some dust from the cover and slipped the tiny book into my inner jacket pocket. "Back in the day, it wasn't an uncommon volume. Only the very rich could afford it, however. Just because no copies survived Avalon's destruction on the surface, doesn't make it anything special down here. Were you expecting more, Miss Granger?"

"I thought… I didn't know what to think. That there would be a challenge, perhaps. A riddle to solve, or something."

"You're disappointed?"

"Well, kind of, yes."

"Heh." I put an arm around Hermione's shoulders and kissed her forehead—her hair smelled of peaches—and led her back outside. "This place is a silent graveyard. A monument to Time. Best left undisturbed. But don't worry—there'll be plenty of magic to come. You always enjoy solving the traps and snares hiding the Stone of Dreams."

Hermione shrugged out of my grip and wrapped her arms around herself, gazing at the remains of Avalon with a fresh perspective—perhaps seeing the voiceless ghosts roaming the ancient halls—and her eyes fell solemn.

"Let's go see our friends, Harry," she whispered. "This place is awful."

* * *

><p><em>Makin' meaning, boss. One step at a time.<em>

* * *

><p>Back in the air, I set the battleship into cruise mode (or whatever) and headed north. Our next destination wasn't set in stone, so I took a seat on the lower deck and patted the space next to me for Hermione.<p>

She sat down, crossing her legs at the ankle and tapping her feet anxiously. "I can't believe I was just ten miles below the earth in a lost, ancient city."

"Beats Charms or Potions class, doesn't it?"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far."

I chuckled. "Time never changes some things. I'm glad you snuck aboard, Hermione."

We flew through a bank of low-lying clouds. Cool drops of precipitation alighted on our clothes and settled in Hermione's bushy hair.

"Do you ever just want to stop running, Harry?"

"I'm sitting on my ass—"

"No, don't do that. You know what I mean." She gestured to the ship, to the sky and clouds shooting by on either side, and the blazing sun overhead. The whistle of the wind. "This, all of this. Every day—running, fighting, doing something incredibly amazing and probably reckless. It's a bit much, isn't it?"

I knew what she was on about—of course I did—but after so many years and so many crimes, to stop and look back would kill me surer than the Dark Lord. Hell, Voldemort would be kinder. "A little too epic, huh?"

"Call it what you will. The running from battle to battle and losing bits of yourself along the way." She patted my shiny mythril hand. "How can you stand it?"

"I do what I must," I said, not with any sort of anger or even perplexed, polite simplicity. "There is no one else, Hermione. No one is coming to save us from the end of the world. I have to do it, as best I can, or die trying."

"You did die trying."

"Once or twice, yeah." I laughed. "If at first you don't succeed…"

"Send your soul eight years back in time and try again?"

I made a gun with my thumb and forefinger and pulled the trigger with a wink. "Bullseye. Only now we find ourselves with only one more loaded chamber. One more shot to fire, and if we miss… if I miss…"

The consequences were not something to bear thinking about it, and yet, it was all I could think about. Every minute of the day. Like that one girl you can't have, but love anyway—a longing ache—and then bury beneath wild cherry blossoms under an Australian sun.

Or whatever.

"To fail this time means death for all, and for me, an existence of agonising time-travel as I'm ground down to dust upon the rusted gears of the Infernal Clock." I rubbed my chest over my heart. "Perhaps I deserve that, after so long."

Or perhaps I deserved a way out. A way to undo the time magic and live this one last life as everybody else did. On the invisible timer with the unknowable countdown. There was something reassuring about that. Something… kinder than immortality.

"No, no you don't."

"No? I'm not so sure."

We fell into an uncomfortable silence. I picked at a loose thread in my tattered and frayed suit pants, ignoring the dried blood on my shirt and the missing buttons. I needed a new three-piece, once again. Or maybe some better protective charms on the material.

"Are we heading to Hogwarts?"

"That's up to you." I stood up, wincing at the pain in my back, and coughed into the clear skies. I could still taste blood in the back of my throat. The cough was getting worse—and painful.

"I think we should have Madam Pomfrey give you a potion for that, before anything else."

I waved away Hermione's concern. A creeping suspicion—call it intuition after all the centuries of bullshit—told me that traditional medicine wouldn't work on this particular ailment. Although it was just a cough, it had lingered… I knew the feeling well—as well as the scar on my forehead.

Death, or something like it.

Still, I've never been one to shy away from a fight. Perhaps I'd try the potions, or seek aid in Atlantis—if what remained of my pride would allow such a thing. Or my temper. Visions of flame and burning skyscrapers made me feel giddy. A part of me, and not a small part, wanted to raze Atlantis to the ground—ignite the city—for what Astaroth had done to me, and Tessa.

We would have our reckoning on that, before I died.

"Hogwarts it is, then. Although we should be heading to Norway, for the Stone of Dreams. Perhaps Ron and Neville can accompany us there. I know of a nice restaurant along the coast, hidden amongst the fjords, that does the best apple pie in the world. Literally, the world. I've tried everywhere."

Hermione smiled at me, and it was hard to see anything but sadness there. "Sounds nice, Harry."

"Yes, yes, it does."

* * *

><p><em>All the plans that we made… taken away.<em>

* * *

><p>"This will be our home now, for as long as you want to stay with me."<p>

With the sun to our back, Hermione piloted the ship east across an azure sky. There was no land beneath us, just a cool dark ocean. We were chasing that elusive horizon once again.

Neville rubbed his cheeks, looking a little seasick as we traversed the world below. "Just us, Harry? Me, you, Hermione and Ron?"

Ron patted Neville on the back. He looked cheerful—excited. "Better than Potions or Charms class, isn't it?"

I grinned. "Exactly."

Dumbledore had not tried to stop Hermione and I absconding with two more of his students. I think the old man was willing to let me rise and fall on the grace of my own choices. To let the consequences fall as they may… The headmaster was deferring to the voice of experience—and if there was one thing I had, it was experience.

"Below deck are living quarters, kitchens, showers, a war room… It's bigger on the inside, in case you were wondering. Room for a crew of thirty, and we're just four for now."

"For now, Harry?" Neville asked.

"That's Captain Harry, Longbottom." I snorted. "But yeah. I expect a few more crew—Tonks, a man named Jason, perhaps Fleur Delacour. We'll see."

"Harry—" Ron began.

"Captain—"

"Sod off, mate. _Harry_, where we headed now?"

"After the Stone of Dreams. Once we have that, things are going to get really interesting. But first pie, gentlemen—and Hermione—first pie."

In good spirits, my three friends laughed and admired the mighty Atlantean battleship together. A brand new relic, stolen from another era. After we had the Stone, we would need to spend some time outfitting the ship—supplies, such as scotch and an array of finely tailored suits, and make plans for the rest of the items on my agenda. Relics, artefacts, and other minor details… like the Dark Lord's Horcruxes.

I rubbed my scar and rested my mythril hand upon the crystal control column, the sky overhead a burnt orange blurring into velvet blue, as Hermione took back command, shoving me gently aside. There was a long way to go—_miles, boss_—before I was done.

But done I would be.

"Harry, do these cannons work?" Ron asked from the lower deck.

It was good being around friends. Over a thousand years and I still forgot that sometimes. It was good, and honest, and beat back the memories better than I ever could alone. For the first time in a long time I smiled and meant it. I smiled and it wasn't because of the jagged hooks of insanity shredding apart my mind.

Then I thought of Tessa, of what was lost and what could still be lost, and my smile faded. Not to despair—never to despair—and I wrapped an arm across Hermione's shoulders. The work was hard, the hours long, and the pay low… but so long as I remembered to _breathe_ every now and again. Well, then it was easy.

"Stick your head in one and find out, Ron!"

Keep it simple, stupid.

* * *

><p><strong><em><span>AN:_**_ Top stuff? Leave me a review and I'll now for sure. Let's also think of a name for Harry's shiny new battleship. We had the Reminiscence for the last one, but that got blowed up. Funny is good, symbolic better, or a hybrid of something in between. Cheers._

_As I said, more updates soon-and word on the street is I've a new story waiting in the wings, one not so bound by my raging love of epicness. You'll see!_

_**Joe's Fic Recommendation:** Hmm... let's see. How's about some of this: Anything by the author 'enembee'. Seriously, search for him and devour his work. T'is good._

_-Joe out._


	12. Chapter 11: To Dream, My Friend

_**Disclaimer:**__ In which I undo a lot of hard work. Heh._

_**A/N:**__ And here is your blasted update. Taking a turn for the absurd, now. Huzzah!_

_-Joe_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Harry Potter and the Heartlands of Time<strong>_

_Chapter Eleven – To Dream, My Friend_

_The wood of suicides has changed since my last visit to Hell._

_I remember it as a tiny grove. Now it resembles a forest._

_~Sandman, Neil Gaiman_

Tall, thin whirlwinds of destructive magic—fire and ice and black stone—gouged the tile work of the basilica floor. A heavy wind pushed against us, making it seem like we were moving with the slowness of old men.

I took a swig of thousand-year-old red wine and really wished I hadn't. Still, better rotgut than nothing, and stumbling upon that cellar had been a surprise even to me.

"Just stick to the runes for illusion—that should keep us safe!" Hermione yelled, pulling her cloak up over her face to ward away the flecks of stone and debris from the mini magical tornados. "Is that right, Harry?"

"Right again, Miss Granger! I told you you'd enjoy solving these puzzles! Hah!"

"Oh yeah," Ron mumbled. He had a nasty looking cut on his forehead from the swinging-axe room. "Laughing my head off over here."

"You almost were," Neville quipped.

"More wine, gents?" I asked. The old bottle of red, coated in dust, had stained my teeth and lips—dribbling down my chin—crimson, as if I'd gnawed away my own tongue.

Ron and Neville declined.

Hermione led the way, sticking to the safe tiles on the floor. As she had figured out, the whirlwinds of tempestuous fire could not touch us. A simple solution, really, but the scattered bones of centuries of explorers suggested otherwise.

We cleared the cathedral of fucked-up magic and progressed into the corridor of slightly less dangerous constructs. I tossed my bottle of disgusting wine into the rune-strewn gutter. It shattered and dyed the stone a bloody red.

"Anything we should watch out for in this hallway?" Hermione asked, glancing back at me over her shoulder as torches along the walls sprang to life for the first time in a long time.

"If memory serves…" I frowned and closed one eye, tilting my head to the side. "Either a horde of infernal travesties that bleed acid… or a brisk walk through an underground garden of weird and wonderful magical plants."

"What? You're not sure which one?"

"It might be both, actually."

"Harry, that's—"

"Thrilling? Exhilarating? Never knowing if your next stop will be doused with monster-acid!" I wasn't making a sale. "Okay, stand back. I'll take point."

It was the garden, in the end.

The corridor twisted along and then around in a descending spiral, ever downward, into the heart of the mountain. Why these old and ancient artefacts were always hidden in the hearts of mountains, I didn't know. Suitably majestic, I've been led to believe. But damn troublesome to get there.

At the base of the spiralled corridor we came to a vine-strewn square, lit with soft glowing orbs of ethereal light. It was quiet, and pleasant, and no one died.

"That's aconite," Neville said. "Oh, and look, a bushel of alihotsy. Don't touch that—it can cause hysteria. A nice bed of flitterbloom over there, and I… I've no idea what that is. Wow. Can I take a cutting, Harry?"

"Knock yourself out."

Neville drew his wand, a dopey grin on his face, and approached a large curled plant covered with purple blossoms. He worked carefully, quickly, to retrieve a vine cutting, and placed it just as carefully in his inner robe pocket. It didn't try to eat his face or drain his soul, either. So that was good.

"Through the garden?" Hermione asked. She had been perturbed a bit by the whirlwind cathedral, but the thrill of the hunt was gleaming in her eyes once again. "Are we nearly there?"

"Through the garden," I assured her. "Then into a particularly nasty star field of magical illusion. Something I encountered on the hunt to Atlantis—a favourite of the architect there, Janus. It will throw your _memories_ at you. People we've lost, perhaps, or enemies still living."

"That sounds about bloody right," Ron grumbled. He had enjoyed the apple pie in Norway far more than this particular adventure.

"Just remember that nothing is real—nothing—and walk with your head held high. It is designed to discourage and lead to despair. It… it drove me mad, once." I chuckled. "Madder. Maddest, perhaps. Hey, where's my bottle of wine?"

"You threw it away," Hermione said.

"That doesn't sound like something I'd do."

"You know," Ron said, as we ambled through the garden. "We could make a pretty good amount of gold treasure hunting. What with your future-knowledge, Harry—"

"Past knowledge, really," I corrected him.

"Yeah, that, however it works. We could do this professionally—like my brother does for Gringott's. I bet there are more than just stuffy old magical artefacts hidden away. There'll be treasure troves out there—mountains full of gold, probably. What do you say, Harry?"

"I say that sounds like a fine idea. Small matter of Voldemort and Atlantis and the Ministry and the world war to come, but once we get through all that—relatively unscathed, no doubt—we can talk about your business venture."

Ron's bright expression turned a touch glum. "Doesn't sound too appealing now."

"Well, cheer up. Next year the Cannons win the Cup against Puddlemere."

Ron gasped. "Really?"

"No."

"You wanker."

I strolled out of the garden and into a hazy, lazy cloud of glittering magic, like a fog rolling in off the morrows… it dulled sound and made distance uncertain.

And speaking of the heart of things, when it came right down to the heart of the matter, I guess I just didn't know how to make a difference. I knew how to make mistakes, sure, but a change for the better?

Was I any better than a blind man throwing stones in the dark? Hoping to hit a target that was not only moving but also fading? Better to shoot the devil in the face, wasn't it? At least you knew what the repercussions would be.

Ah, too many questions, really.

The blanket of cool, misty light seemed to cling to our clothes. It left drops of sparkling dew on the hairs of my arm. Hermione blinked away a speckle of drops from her eyelashes. The soft, floating sparks on the air, swept up like leaves caught in the wind, moved with age-old slowness. I half-expected Tessa to appear within the cloud, or—like in the heart of Everest—my father, perhaps. Or Lord Voldemort himself, just a shadow from beyond time and space of the real deal.

And yet, there was something almost peaceful about the cloud of rampant magic. It had rested here, undisturbed in the nerve centre of this ancient underground cathedral for the better part of a millennium. It was younger than I was, which was a thought that could still take me by surprise. A good thing, really. Life is surprise. If you knew what the odds were on every choice made, then how was that any different from being dead? From being robbed of free will?

"You humans are the only creatures in the universe that believe in free will," Father Time said, that hoary cripple with malicious eye. He appeared before us, in our road amidst the fog and the sparkling light. "Everyone else is not so easily distracted."

Hermione, Ron and Neville beheld the old man—for he was old, gnarled, leaning on a twisted and petrified walking stick—as if he were a demon. And perhaps he was, but this was just a memory pulled from my mind. The magic in the cloud sought the most painful memory it could. I was long past weeping for my lost family, or fearing the Dark Lord, so here was the err of my ways…

"Get out of my head, boss," I said.

"Harry, is this an illusion?" Hermione asked.

"This man is the personification of Time. He guards the way to the Infernal Clock below Old Atlantis. He's not real, and yet he is all that exists. Does that make any sense?" I chuckled. "Of course not, and it never will. However, yes, Hermione. This is merely an illusion."

"Do you still have that watch I gave you?" Time asked. "Four minutes to midnight, Harry Potter. To die and die again."

I stepped forward, through the old man, and scattered his figment into a thousand dull sparks that swarmed angrily around me. Each one tickled, like a buzz of warm energy, before dispersing back into the cloud. We moved on, but it was only a moment before another illusion formed—this one, again, playing at my mind.

"You promised to save me, 'Arry," Fleur Delacour whispered. She was pale blue and ivory. Half of her face had been eaten away. She looked sad... and pregnant. Heavily pregnant. "And yet here you are, no, running around after pieces of old stone... why do you think _ee_t will make any difference _z_is time?"

"Because it has to," I said. "Because this time counts for all."

Fleur smiled. I watched the rotten muscle in her jaw stretch and then snap, and that was enough for me. I surged forward, pushing through the illusion, and dragged my friends with me. None of them had any idea of the nightmares in my mind. No real idea, at the very least. But the magic in the cloud could only take the truth of my deepest fears so far. I doubt even Janus, the original architect of this particular piece of mind magic, had ever considered it would be used against a mind such as mine.

One with the memories of a thousand years and tens of thousands of lives.

A scattered wasteland of mistakes and better-luck-next-times. Too few real horrors left to choose from, really. I was over it.

The sparkling mist diverged away from the true path, and in the very heart of the dank stone room, covered in those same creeping vines, we found a pedestal. Upon that pedestal sat a small circular rock—like an egg. Collars of rune-scripted gold ran in two quick bands around the Stone of Dreams.

"Oh my, is that it?" Hermione asked. "Well, that wasn't too bad, was it, Harry?"

I nodded. "No, not too bad at all, really." Father Time and Fleur Delacour. "It has been worse, but I guess I'm over a lot of that baggage."

Which probably wasn't true, not deep down. The magic just hadn't been able to get at the core of me. Too hot to handle, that's me.

"So we snag it and run?" Ron asked. "It's not booby trapped, is it? Like as soon as we grab it a dozen flaming arrows shoot out of the walls?"

"Not that I recall."

Neville stepped up to the pedestal and glanced back at me. I raised a single shoulder in a small shrug. Nev returned it and then plucked the stone from its bracket. When the roof didn't collapse, he tucked it into his pocket and breathed a sigh of relief. The sparkling cloud of mind magic dispersed as the treasure it had guarded was spirited away—purpose served.

"That was rather fun, except for the last bit there," Hermione said. "Where to next, Harry?"

"Wasn't that enough adventuring for one day?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Hmm..." I rubbed my hands together and licked my lips. "Well, I suppose we can go blow up a horcrux, if you like?"

"You mean one of those bit's of You Know Who's soul?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, let's do that." Neville's face was set—grim. "That sounds just okey-dokey to me."

* * *

><p><em>It's no place for the old.<em>

* * *

><p>"You know, we're lucky in a way."<p>

"How so?" I asked.

"Because of this-what we're doing. I mean, look. We're flying on a battleship built in what amounts to another world over ten thousand years ago. It's exciting, isn't it? We get to be the difference in the world. Isn't that better than standing on the sidelines?"

"I suppose it is, Hermione, but you know better than most that we're not always this carefree."

The sun was at our backs, dwindling in the west, as my Atlantean cruiser shook the heavens. We cut through cloud, speckled the deck with moisture, as Ron and Neville practiced their wandwork on the deck. I'd taught them a few useful old world spells not found in any dusty, musty leather bound Hogwarts textbook.

"Think a minute on it, Harry. I think you enjoy all this more than you let on. I think you let the bad memories, all those years of memories, pile on top of what is, essentially, freedom. You have the freedom to go anywhere and do anything." She shook her head. "I can't imagine any greater pleasure, can you?"

Images of Fleur fluttered through my mind. Hot, sweaty images in the dark. Greater pleasures? There were a few. Yet I took Hermione's words to heart and processed them, let them simmer. There were moments, through the haze of time, where I did allow myself to enjoy the power at my fingertips. Remarkable though it may be, I was still a ravaged husk more than a little to the left of okay.

"That's a nice way of looking at things, thank you, Hermione." I chuckled. "Don't think I don't see what you're doing, either. You're trying to make me feel better. It doesn't work like that... Too much _time_ has passed for that. Far too much time. The thing about all this, 'Mione, the thing about memories. They're supposed to fade, supposed to dwindle. I remember it all. Every day of every year of every life. I think the Infernal Clock won't let me forget. So yes, this is amazing. This is better than nine to five at Hogwarts, but a pleasure? Forgive me, but you're rather naive. I don't say that to hurt—in many ways, it's a good thing—but we're on opposite ends of the spectrum here. And luck has nothing to do with it."

Hermione went and joined Ron and Neville on the lower deck and left me piloting the ship. A small part of me recognised that I had probably hurt her feelings, whether I'd meant to or not. She was so young. But then, to me, who wasn't? Perhaps it would do well to remember that age did not necessarily grant wisdom.

Doubly so in my case.

My thoughts turned to naming my mighty ship. This was now my home, the base of operations, from which I would launch my campaign against the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. Against Astaroth and his old magic. Against the Ministry. Against Chronos and Saturnia. Against them all. Every last one of them. _Seriously, boss, you dunno who you be fuckin' with_. It was time my oh-so-eager enemies were reminded of that.

The Reminiscence had been a good name for my first ship. It was a memory of things long dead.

But that didn't fit here. My ship was new, shiny, all systems a-go. It deserved a name to reflect such majesty. But what?

I had nothing.

Truth is, I'd never been that creative. It's all just scotch and steak and heartache. Hmm.

_The Scotch'n'Steak…_ No, too obvious.

And, after losing Tessa for the last time below deck, this place deserved a proper name. Something with meaning.

"So where we headed, Harry?" Neville asked, joining me on at the control column. "Back to England? To find the… the Horcrux?"

I blinked. "Oh yeah, Horcrux hunting. Sorry, miles away. That kind of slipped my mind."

We must have been flying through some storm clouds, because a grey haze seemed to cloak the ship. I steered us down, into thicker atmosphere.

"Are we still—?"

"Yes, yes. Although it won't be as exciting as all this relic hunting nonsense we've been up to…"

"Harry!" Neville grabbed my arm. "You're… Merlin, your eyes are bleeding!"

"Of course it's still fairly impressive," I continued. "Seeing one of the bastard's soul fragments go up in smoke. Let me tell you, Nev, nothing as satisfying—no greater pleasure, even, heh—as…"

There was the sound of footsteps echoing down a long, empty corridor. A rather feminine giggle that made me think of Fleur. A flash of crimson. A dollop of sour cream.

A touch of strange.

* * *

><p>—<em>Please, tell me what you are?—<em>

No matter what happens, isn't it important to try?

—_Very well, I am Lady Time.—_

Time?

—_Time.—_

Oh…

—_Just who were you expecting?—_

I do not know… but Time's up, isn't it?

—_Yes, yes it is, Harry James Potter. And this is really, really going to hurt…—_

Fuck it, do your worst...

* * *

><p>I awoke from the dream—the Dream, the same Dream—and turned to glance out of the window above my bed, as I always did, wanting to catch the first rays of sunlight beaming in on my renewed life.<p>

I sighed and basked in the warmth. _Back again_. And where I'd come from there had been no… That was odd, I couldn't remember my last life.

All of those memories were _fuzzy_, swimming in and out of thought and consciousness, as they always were at the beginning.

The future is never written—remember that, even if you remember nothing else—and trying to hold memories of a time that hadn't happened yet, and that had virtually no chance of playing out the same way again, was like trying to hold water in a sieve.

Impossible and pretty much pointless.

Yet I always remember enough of the last time and the times before to do things differently. To make all the old mistakes in new and exciting ways… That was a funny thought in a sad and lonely way. I think I've had it before, maybe not.

I jumped up and out of bed at Number Four, Privet Drive. There was work to be done, after all, and already events were in motion that would lead, inevitably it seemed, to the end of the world.

It was the summer after the battle at the Department of Mysteries, and Sirius' death was fresh in my young mind. More than once I had tried to go back earlier than this, to prevent Voldemort's rebirth entirely, but no matter how much power I used or how hard I wished it so, this was as far back in time I could go.

And still, eight years was pretty damned impressive, especially when all the theory said it was impossible.

Moving out of the small bedroom and onto the landing, I could hear the Dursley's moving about downstairs and went into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, first of all, just to make sure I looked like I should – a teenager, only weeks away from his sixteenth birthday. My unruly hair stuck up every which way, and beneath my heavy fringe the damned lightning-bolt scar was red and enflamed.

And moving.

My skin was moving, _crawling_… stretching. It looked hazy, almost out of focus. My entire body seemed to be fluid, moving within the bounds of my form. I smiled grimly and waved my hand through the air. I left a shadowy imprint before the mirror like a flesh-coloured rainbow, as if I were moving in super-slow motion.

Oh yeah, things were as they should be.

Splashing my face with water, I braced myself—it was coming any minute now. I could already feel it building in the back of my eyes. Just a tingle for the moment… yet the pressure rose fast. I grabbed one of the hand towels from the rack next to the mirror and put it between my teeth – if I was quick enough I'd be able to catch the worst of it. I gripped the edge of the sink as the tingling in my eyes became uncomfortable.

Travelling back through time and cheating death all at once is not nearly as easy as it sounds. And each time it seems to hurt a little more. I wonder about that sometimes, why each time I go back hurts more than the last. It's a difference, and differences are worth their weight in gold.

The necessary force and sheer amount of power required to transport me not only through time, but into my younger self, was simply extraordinary. I wasn't just transporting matter—which _was_ impossible—but my _soul, _which was equally impossible. To this day I do not really understand how it was done. All I know was that it worked, and that was good enough.

I had some idea, scraps of half a dozen crazy theories… born in the wastelands of a Lost City.

It had something to do with negatively charging every molecule and particle in my body to twice the speed of light, and then hitting the afterburners and throwing it all into reverse so hard and so fast that reality was torn apart—only locally mind, around me—and a gateway was opened between one time and another.

_Always this time, always this summer, why not any other time? Why?_

It meant I always arrived with my molecules still vibrating, hence the appearance of slow-motion movement. It wasn't—parts of me were actually still spinning near the speed of light, nothing slow about that at all, and it meant that when time caught up with me and my mind relaxed, the aftershock of such a trip hurt like all the cruciatus curses ever cast hitting me at once, whilst getting kicked in the balls.

And here it was…

I gripped the sink, clenched my teeth, and nothing happened.

_Huh?_

I blinked and frowned. My skin was no longer slurry in the mirror. In the distance, I heard a knock at the door downstairs.

Then I remembered.

"Of course it's still fairly impressive," I muttered. "Seeing one of the bastard's soul fragments go up in smoke. Let me tell you, Nev, nothing as satisfying—no greater pleasure, even, heh—as…"

…as what? And then _what_? I had been alive, aboard my battleship, about to summon the Dark Lord's horcruxes to me. And now this? _Now this?_

A reset where there could be no reset.

A death where there had been no death.

I was back at the start.

_No…_

"Harry," Petunia Dursley called from downstairs. Her tone was like water trickling over loose pebbles. Uninterested and not really there. Possessed, even. That was the word for it. "There's something to see you."

It had all been for nothing.

I fell to my knees. A thousand thoughts ran desolate through my mind. _This is different. Where was the pain? There is never anyone at the door. I can't…_

"I can't do this again." My voice was a whisper—a hoary cripple. A malicious eye. "Don't make me do it again…"

A reset should not have been possible. It should have torn the fucking fabric of existence asunder and ground me to dust on the damned clockwork at the heart of the universe!

And yet, no. No fucking fabric, no damned clockwork, no pain. Just a green marble sink and a wet tiled floor. Nothing, for all that mattered. Oblivion itself would have been kinder than this.

Just what in the seven hells had gone wrong now? I must have died.

Another thought clicked over through the maelstrom in my mind. _Something to see you_, Aunt Petunia had said.

_Some_thing_._

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**__ This seems like a more than capable spot to leave off. It is good to be writing again. I took a break for a month, as I just wasn't feeling the magic. Also had to design and set up my new website, which promotes my original fiction and advertises my upcoming novel! That's right, folks. More Joe for you. Check out the links in my profile._

_Okay, so next update is for _An Unfound Door_. I encourage you to go read that, if you haven't yet. It is garnering some very positive reviews. Then Heartlands again._

_Wouldn't it suck if I've actually reset the story? After all the words and all the strife Harry has faced? It would suck quite thoroughly. Stay tuned for more!_

_-Joe_


	13. Interlude: Welcome To Fabulous Las Vegas

_**Disclaimer:**__ Looking out some country window…_

_**A/N:**__ I know I've been away for a few months – with good reason! My original novel just went live on the Amazon Kindle store! Check out my profile for links, or Google: _**Distant Star by Joe Ducie**

_What we have here is an interlude, while I get back into the swing of things. Expect a full chapter in June._

_Enjoy,_

_Joe_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Harry Potter and the Heartlands of Time<strong>_

_Interlude__ – Welcome To Fabulous Las Vegas_

_Most men completely accept knowledge as truth._

_They are sheep, ruled by fear._

_But you are different. Always calm, detached._

_A smooth flow of thought into action. Indeed…_

_It is almost as if… as if you had no soul. How do you do it?_

_Body and soul are one—yet yours are separated._

_Like a child from the knight in his storybook._

_~Vagrant Story_

_Our ideals never really marched in time._

_Perhaps that's the best way to describe the relationship between my good self and the lord of all children's nightmare—Voldemort._

_You know how I did it._

(Bargained with the Infernal Clock and fucked a watery sprite, two personifications of time and destiny itself.)

_You even know why._

(To save the past from the future. To unmake the end of the world.)

_But the cost, oh the cost to the soul. What soul? The weeks fly by and the years roll on. The man that I've become._

_Merlin wept._

"Barkeep, I'll take another. And I don't wanna hear anymore shit about how young I look!"

* * *

><p><em>Walking down the old paths of Faé and Forget, I felt the warm breeze at my back, urging me on along this foolish yet fucking necessary quest.<em>

_A quest for an idea, a quest for a terrible fate._

_The forest was light surrounded by oppressive darkness. The last bastion of magical purity on the planet, a ward of broken realms and swaying promises. Soft petals of sparkling light cast the green trees, thick on all sides, into blurs of electric-blue amnesty._

"'Let me take you down_,'" I hummed the words softly against the light, "_'Let me take you down, 'cause I'm going to Strawberry Fields…_'"_

_Any other day and I would have been terrified; I would have been clawing at my eyes and on my knees before the weight of the magical world that was pressing down all around me. But this wasn't any other day. This was the last day of my life._

_There was a clock on the face of Hell, of that I was quite sure._

_The path through the forest meandered back and forth, across fallen stumps and over moss-covered boulders, yet it cut west – forever west – through the debris. I saw nothing living save the trees, and yet I felt watched._

_This path had started in the Forbidden Forest, on the Hogwarts side, and I had travelled for the best part of a day through that wood, my wand clutched tightly in my fist, spelling trouble more than a few times, and yet I was no longer in the Forbidden Forest._This _forest, these trees, wasn't exactly _anywhere.

_I'd left the whole world behind, what was left of it._

"'Nothing is real and nothing to get hung about_.'" The oppressive silence devoured my mumbled song, yet I had to make some noise. I had to rage against the darkness. "_'Strawberry Fields Forever_.'"_

_In time I came to a clearing in the trees, and yet a thick canopy still arched high overhead and cut deep into an enormous slab of stone that rose up and out of sight into the azure sky. _

_In the clearing was a dark pool, fed from a heavy waterfall that cascaded down over the worn slab of stone. Where the waterfall struck the pool a radiant, foamy swash shot up sparks of pure silver light._

_This was the place. I felt it in my bones – in my heart and my mind._

_I was thirsty. _Don't drink the water. _But to drink or eat in this…_place_… was death. Was worse than death. Was forever-death, can ya dig it?_

_Still, I'd have to go swimming to get this all done and dusted._

_I was dressed in a pair of old Hogwarts robes over a shirt and jeans. I'd been going for the 'wizardly' appearance, but that now felt foolish. I shrugged out of the robes, pulled off my shirt and unlaced my boots before losing the jeans, as well._

_In short manner, I stood naked before the secluded forest pool – save for my glasses and my wand, clutched in a death-grip in my right hand._

_It was time._

_And yet I hesitated. Of course I hesitated._

_It would be an easy step down into the pool to begin my work, my dark and tricky work, yet I paused for a moment to take in my shimmering reflection in the water. _

_Even in the twilight, my reflection showed the mess of scars and twisted fused skin that covered my body, burning over my shoulders and clawing at my neck. It had been a hard war, a desperate race for Atlantis… I was ruined._

_And about to be _as _ruined as Voldemort._

_I stepped off the edge of the path and into the pool. The water was warm, welcoming, like an embrace, and for a moment I felt like I was floating. The mud beneath my feet was as soft as silk… I was terrified._

"_Fuck that," I whispered. "Fuck the fear." I gathered my will and waded out into the deep water, up to my knees, wand at the ready…_

_The forest was silent save for the cascading curtain of water before me. It was time to get down to business._

_Like any good magic worth a damn, this summoning required blood fresh from the vein. I muttered a quick spell and a razor-sharp point of silver grew out of my wand tip. Without any preamble, I drew the tip across my free wrist and slashed it open. Blood, hot and brilliant-crimson, spurted from the wound, down my hand, and began to drip into the water._

_I turned and tossed my wand back onto the bank amongst my clothes. I wouldn't need it again, the voices in my head whispered. Voices I'd come to trust and yet understood as the jagged hooks of insanity._

_I sensed its presence gathering before I saw it. The water around me began to churn, like the tide of the sea, drawing my oh-so-precious blood down into its dark, impenetrable depths. I was convinced coming here had been the right decision, but still…_

_From within the waterfall I caught it's eyes staring at me. Twin sparks of soft purple light. There was a soft giggle, feminine and striking, as the spirit of the past surged forward through the water and came to rest before me._

"_Hello, Harry Potter."_

_I took a step back in spite of myself. The creature before me was beautiful, shapely and curved, and as naked as I was. Her form consisted of nothing more than sparkling silver water and those deep, distinctive purple eyes. She was a creature of Faé times, of the Old World… not even close to human._

_And yet her form was beautiful… beautiful and complete. Her liquid-figure looked human, looked like a woman. A fall of flowing water clung to her face on either side, a drop of clear hair, resting on her shoulders. My eyes glanced down to her chest, to her breasts and the suggestive flow of nipples._

_I took a deep breath._

"_Hello…"_

"_It has been an age of ages since one so young and so mortal sought the company of one such as me…" Her voice was smooth, seductive… "I know why you are here."_

"_Really?" I doubted that. No one had ever dared to do what I had planned._

"_Of course," the spirit said, gliding around me on the surface of the pool. "You are here for them. For the lost. For… Fleur Delacour, for Nymphadora Tonks, and Albus Dumbledore. You are here for Hermione Granger, you are here for Ronald Weasley. So many ghosts haunt you, Harry, so many corpses paved your path through my forest…"_

"_The world is burning."_

"_No, it has burnt, and you seek to undo it. You seek to unmake the Infernal Clock. Such a task of inspired madness!"_

_Well, I guess she did know what I had planned. Despite the shields that guarded my mind, this creature could see right through me. I was still bleeding into the water… "What I want—"_

"_Is not what you need. I can give you what you _need._" Her watery smile, her full lips shot with the silver sparks from the waterfall, promised pleasures I could only imagine._

_I let out a deep breath slowly. "And what is it you think I need?"_

"_**Time**__."_

_That one word echoed throughout the forest, breaking through the veneer of unnatural silence. Behind me and all around the trees groaned, swayed… a smile crept onto my face._

"_We're on the same page, you and I."_

"_To challenge the universe, Mr. Potter, as you have done, as you will do for a very long time to come, is the most reckless, foolish… and _heroic _undertaking in the long life of your world."_

"_I'm no hero—"_

"_Thrice damn your modesty, Harry. You are the _last _hero. You echo back and forth across time and the ripples of what you have done – and what you will do – are legend."_

_I didn't care for that, not at all. "Legend…?"_

"_Legends of defying chaos and entropy – of resisting the inevitable march toward _nothing_."_

_I shook my head. "Are you speaking in riddles?" I hated riddles. "Speak clear, as the Atlantis Proclamations command your kind. I invoke the _Treaty._"_

_The spirit, the demon, the shade-creature before me swirled back under the curtain of falling diamonds and became indistinct against the rush of the waterfall. She laughed at me – a cruel, cunning laugh born of my ignorance. "Your Lord Voldemort broke that truce when he seized the Lost City."_

"_I claim the truce unbroken – Voldemort does not speak for mankind and the Wizarding World. _I do."

_The spirit flowed forward again, sparks of silver light coursing through her watery form. It flowed forward, close enough to where I stood up to my knees in the pool that I feared attack_.

"That," _the spirit said. "That… is what I hoped to hear."_

_I sighed. "Thought you might…"_

"_Then you accept the mantle of Champion?"_

_There was no reason to hesitate. No reason not to sell my soul and damn the consequences. I was going to die, of that I was quite sure, and soon. But it would be worse to live. "I must. It's time."_

_The spirit shook her head and one clear arm of sparkling water came up to rest on my shoulder. Her touch sent ripples of raw pleasure, hot and sure, through my body. I felt myself growing hard…_

"_You must stop thinking of time as a straight line, as a perspective of cause and effect. Time, for you, Harry, is no longer… _forward._"_

_I shrugged. _Strawberry Fields Forever. _"I'll try."_

"_Yes, you will." A heavy, pregnant pause. "And the universe will break you for it."_

"_Oh let that bastard do its worst…" I was beginning to feel light headed. I'd lost a lot of blood. "Just name your price, lady…"_

_Her smile was sweet, if such a thing was possible, and her hand on my shoulder moved down my chest, over the crisscrossing scar tissue, across my stomach and lower until she held the length of me in her soft, clear grip._

"_You seem more than… willing… to pay my price."_

_I almost smiled. "Well, so be it._

* * *

><p>"And that's what happened," <em>I said, trying hard not to slur my words.<em>

_The woman sitting next to me at the bar in the Bellagio Casino, in the heart of Las Vegas, was most definitely a prostitute, but perhaps that was what I needed right now. _

"You've got a wild imagination," _she said_.

_Her little black dress was more of a little black belt, and left little to the imagination. I tossed back two fingers of liquid gold with a practiced flick and slapped another hundred-dollar bill on the bar._

"I've been winning at the blackjack tables."

"I saw your run. Impressive. How much did you clear?"

"Just shy of half a million dollars. Would you like some?" _I reached into the pocket of my fine suit jacket. These suits were always an extravagance, but if I had to die—and die I had, a thousand times—then I would die well dressed. _"Here."

_I gave the beautiful woman a handful of gambling chips and tapped the bar for another drink. The lights and sounds of the casino swirled around me, embraced me. I got lost in the maelstrom of debt unfound._

"Oh… my god. I can't accept this. You just gave me fifty thousand dollars worth of—"

"Take it and run, sweet thing. Hey, did you hear I was a wizard, once upon a time?"

_She left the chips sitting on the bar and laughed._ "You are drunk."

"And you are beautiful, and tomorrow I will be sober."_ I thought of the war back home, of Voldemort off in another world seizing the mythical realm of Atlantis. As he had done so many times before. _"Want to hear another story?"

"I think I do, yes."

_That called for another drink._

"Okay, listen close, sweet thing. Once upon a time, there was a boy named Harry…"

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**__ A fanciful interlude, yes, and another glimpse into how Harry spent his endless lives and how he became an immortal son of a bitch._

_Okay, again. This interlude was just to let you all know I'm still writing, and that my __**ORIGINAL NOVEL IS AVAILABLE NOW.**_

**_Google: Distant Star by Joe Ducie_**

_Currently, it is an ebook for Kindle, but in the next week or two other formats will emerge, including paperback. The next chapter update will be in June-t'is half written._

_Thanks, as always, for reading and reviewing,_

_Joe-pop._


	14. Chapter 12: The Darkened Underpass

_**Disclaimer:**__ Hollow lies._

_**A/N:**__ Where have your updates been, you ask? Languishing at the bottom of my to-do list, I'm afraid. Having made the leap into original published fiction, the majority of my writing time is consumed by that these days. It has to be, but I shan't abandon this story—it will be finished._

_Here's an update to prove just that. Please read and review!_

_-Joe_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Harry Potter and the Heartlands of Time<strong>_

_Chapter Twelve – The Darkened Underpass_

…_milliseconds influence centuries._

~Robert Cowley

I have to hand it to this fuckin' universe.

To the gods and would-be-gods that I've always suspected are pulling the strings just behind the scenes. T'is a dark and thin curtain, to be sure, between reality and the void, but they string it well.

A round of applause from one tired old man.

"Something at the door," I muttered, and chuckled between gritted teeth, stained with blood. "Something to see me at the door."

This couldn't be real.

It felt real, and it certainly _breathed_ like it was real. But no.

If I had reset back to the start—if all the work over the last few months had been undone—then I should not have survived the trip back. Not again. I was too torn and soul-weary for such a journey.

The twenty odd thousand corpses that had littered the grounds of Hogwarts were testament enough to that.

So not a reset. It couldn't be.

Which left not much in the way of explanations, save one.

I was being fucked with.

Someone—something—thought it could take the piss. Normally I'd rise to such a challenge, but I was tired these days. Old and tired. So with little to-do, I went downstairs, bloody and shirtless, to confront whatever so desperately wanted my attention.

Petunia stood in a daze at the bottom of the stairs, amidst the heady aroma of cherry blossoms and something akin to wet ash. Her eyes were glazed, staring at nothing and through nothing. I spared my aunt not a moment longer, and spied a lady in red waiting for me at the front door.

"Saturnia...?" I ventured. The woman, all blonde hair and blue eyes, giggled softly. She played with a cerulean gem on a chain around her thin neck. "No, too easy. Well, you make that dress look good, if nothing else."

"Thank you, Harry." Her voice was soft, red velvet—as smooth as silk with a dash of all-too-sexy.

I rubbed at some of the blood dribbling down my chest and shrugged. "Human?"

"No." She titled her head. "Well, almost. Before _you_."

I nodded. "Always my fault, when it comes to women." The door frame felt real, as did the slight breeze blowing in from outside. I stepped out onto the garden path, a few inches from the lady in red. "So I'll give you some credit, and a measure of respect, I suppose. This illusion is as real as any magical construct I've come across—and a lot more than most. But this isn't time travel."

"So sure?"

"I know time, my dear. I know its taste, its scent and the way it moves not from one moment to the next but to all moments—and the heartbeats in between. I'm still up on the Atlantean ship. This is all happening... in my head. Or your head. What is it you want?"

"Just a glimpse of the legend, Harry. Just a moment of your delicious, aromatic time."

"The world has ended for less..."

"Take a girl out for a drink?"

"Sure."

* * *

><p>"<em>Flavoured cigars."<em>

"_Yeah?"_

"_Vanilla, cherry, and honey-almond. Little expensive at twenty-five a pop, but I feel like one suave son of a bitch smoking these bad boys."_

* * *

><p>"So they knew just what to send, didn't they? A pretty girl, dressed in red, and some fine scotch."<p>

After a quick stop in what looked like a Marks & Sparks for a set of clean clothes, the lady in red and I slipped into a quiet booth in what looked like a London pub. I sipped at something that tasted a lot like scotch. _What looks like scotch..._

"Who are 'they'?"

I waved the question away. "Whoever—whatever—sent you. Your boss, love. The evil overlord, the man with the plan, the moron who thinks I'm such good company."

"I'm Lily," the lady in red said. "You never asked, but that's my name."

I flicked back the rest of my scotch and motioned to the waitress across the dark and smoky pub for another. My mother would be proud. "That's a lovely name."

"Yes, I've always liked it." Lily reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "I'm named for my great grandmother."

A tasty glass of fruitful menace arrived and I chuckled into its depths. "Oh come now. Really? This is a new one."

Lily laughed and roses bloomed, trees swayed in distant meadows, and all seemed well with the world. "I'm your granddaughter, Harry. It is so very nice to meet you as you are now. Young and full of steam."

"If that's true then I regret about ninety-eight percent of the thoughts I've had about you since we met." I shook my head. "Ninety-nine. Merlin..."

"You don't believe me?"

"Well, no." I laughed. "Call me distrustful of such honesty, but revelations such as yours are usually wrapped in so much mystery and intrigue that it's left devoid of all meaning when the truth wills out."

"He said you'd be like this."

"Who said what now?"

"My father—your son."

I thought of Fleur, of the life inside her and the months to go. A shard of the Infernal Clock had pierced her, more than a shard, which meant just about anything was possible when it came to that kid.

"Say I believe you, and I half find myself edging toward such belief, which is absurd, but let's just say I do. How—why—are you here?"

"What's in it for me, you mean?"

"Sure." I ordered a third sip of would-be-scotch in this would-be-pub. "Wow me, honey."

Lily shrugged and ran a hand back through her hair in a way that was somewhat familiar. I resisted the urge to do the same. "You're a lot kinder in your old age. More grandfatherly, and you always had a lemon drop for me."

"I've far surpassed my old age, you know. I'm clear of a thousand years and ran out of patience a long, long time ago. Tell me, granddaughter, what is all of this?" I gestured to the world around us. "A construct of magic, surely."

"Yes, magic. But not as you understand it, not yet. This is a moment of time, suspended in a bubble of... of liquid history. Of... the past. I don't quite understand it, but you invented it, Harry."

"No I didn't."

"Will invent it, then. You're so young."

"I'm really not." Pieces of the puzzle were coming together now. Slowly but surely, as was the way of these things. "You're from the future—a future where I... defeated Voldemort."

"Yes. This future. Your _current _future."

"So I finally saved the world? Stopped the grinding of the gears at the heart of creation and actually made a damn difference? Don't tease me now."

"I'm of a race of magical folk that cannot be rightly called human, or even witch or wizard, anymore. We inherited Atlantis after the Fall of Time, and lordship of history. Me, and those like me—your kin—are Keepers."

I raised an eyebrow. "You're a fine salesman—saleswoman—I'll give you that. I'm still not buying what you're selling, though."

Lily slid across the cushioned booth and wrapped her arms around me in a gentle hug. "Stubborn young man," she said, and kissed me on the cheek.

"All the nightmares came today..." I muttered.

Lily lifted the cerulean gem from around her neck, pulled the thin silver chain over her head and placed it over mine. "Stay safe, take care, hold strong, and the future will bend to _your_ will, grandfather."

A breeze ruffled my clothes and my hair. A cool, atmospheric wind. I caught a last, quick glimpse of Lily's delicate smile before she—and the whole wide world—faded away, and I found myself back on stony ground.

Or, rather, hurtling through the air at an absurd speed, wiping blood from my eyes as good old Neville Longbottom rushed to my side.

"Harry!" He grabbed my arm. "You're... Merlin, your eyes are bleeding!"

They surely were, but there was no pain. Not much of anything really. I could still taste that not-scotch in the back of my throat. _Liquid history?_

"Not to worry, Nev," I said. "Just zoned out for a minute there. Where were we?"

"You sure you're okay?"

"Tip-top, old chum. As right as rain." I ran out of sayings, and took a firm hold on the control column of my battleship. We zoomed through the sky, as quiet as a cloud. Ron and Hermione, oblivious to my ocular malfunction, leaned hand-in-hand against one of the ships' mighty cannons.

"Why did that happen?" Neville asked, flummoxed. "Eyes aren't supposed to just—"

"Call it time-lag, I guess." I rubbed at my chest, under my suit, and felt a small gemstone hanging from a thin silver chain around my neck. _Well how do you like that, grandpa?_ "Let's be getting on with those horcruxes, yes."

* * *

><p><em>He hid them all across the globe. One at Hogwarts, of course, and one he keeps with him at all times.<em>

_Two of the seven._

_I destroyed the diary._

_Three of seven._

_The rest were somewhat more difficult to track down, and I spent many of my lifetimes scouring the darkest, dankest corners of this planet for pieces of his festering soul._

_It took me a long time, too long, to realise why we were so connected. One latched onto my soul._

_Four of seven._

_Three more—the chalice, the shield, and the sceptre._

_Seven of seven. A magical number, drenched in enough blood to dye the oceans of the world bright crimson._

* * *

><p>My friends and I flew through the night, across clouds of silver illuminated from Muggle cities below, under a sky scattered with a hundred thousand stars and a pale, full moon that hung fat off our bow.<p>

Setting the ship to autopilot, we huddled together under heating charms and enjoyed a midnight snack of butterbeer mixed with scotch, dipping digestive biscuits into the foamy cream until they were soggy and warm.

"There are thousands of lost temples, hidden cities, forgotten caves, and dark forest hiding places—and that's just on our little island of Great Britain," I said, casting a trail of luminescent light through the air with my wand. "Never mind Europe, or the world beyond that. I had to think like Voldemort, but it was still a considerable challenge to track down the fragmented pieces of the bastard's soul. Took me... decades, probably closer to a century, but I eventually got them all."

I chuckled, thinking of past mistakes and old misdeeds, burning down even my dreams.

"That's a nice necklace, Harry," Hermione said. "Where did you get it?"

I caught myself running Lily's—my would-be granddaughter's—gemstone through my fingers and slipped the chain back under my shirt. "In a stolen pocket of time. I don't know. Not important just now, Hermione. Let's stick to the task at hand, because this will be dangerous."

Hermione nodded.

"Okay, good. The horcrux we're going after first is a shield, like an old school sword and shield, shield. You follow? Good."

"Where is it?" Ron asked. He was handling all of this much better than he usually did. Ron was of a mind, half of my lives, to reach critical mass and overload when it came to the existence of horcruxes and actually hunting them down to be destroyed.

"Azkaban."

Neville choked on a piece of biscuit. "_Azkaban?_ Blimey..."

"Dementors aren't a problem for me," I said, allowing a slow grin to spread across my face. "Not anymore. I can destroy them, and I intend to do so tonight. All of them—those that are left on the island, at the very least. Some have already abandoned the Ministry, and Voldemort is breeding them in Glencoe, about fifty miles outside of Hogwarts."

"Does Dumbledore know?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows rising into her fringe.

"I sent him a letter about it. Voldemort, if he holds true to form, will attack the castle on Christmas Eve, where resistance is nothing and most of the students are away for the holidays. He usually succeeds, given the magical boons he gained in Atlantis, and Hogwarts becomes something... terrible."

Neville dared ask. "What?"

I cast my mind back over a thousand fallen lives, ten thousand and more, in which I'd lived long enough to see Hogwarts fall, to sink lower than the seventh level of Hell itself and emerge as a madman's maniacal construct of blood, bone, and steel.

"Castle Vanguis, he usually calls it. I've never known why. I think it's a play on the Latin word for snake. Hogwarts dies and in its place rises a fortress of darkness and death that sweeps across Britain like the plagues of old." I laughed. "Did that sound suitably dramatic? I'm trying to impart a sense of dread here."

"That sounds awful," Hermione whispered.

"Awful works, yeah. I once spent seven years in the dungeons of Vanguis, in what was the first-year potions room, as a plaything for Bellatrix Lestrange." I ran a hand back through my hair and took a long slug on the stein of scotch-enhanced butterbeer. "You can imagine that most nights housekeeping forgot the complimentary mint on my pillow.

"That doesn't have to happen this time, though, does it, mate?" Ron asked, his tone almost pleading. "You told Dumbledore so he'll have half the bleedin' Aurors in the Ministry—"

"With any luck, it won't happen this time. And a lot of things have changed," I thought of Atlantis off the north-west coast. "Events usually try and stay on script, but time adjusts for the absurd—and what Voldemort and I will do in the coming months is well and truly beyond absurd."

We fell into a comfortable silence then—the kind of silence shared amongst good friends, charged with saving a world that didn't care if someone pissed on the ashes or summoned the sea to douse the flames. Dark talk gave way to happier subjects, namely Quidditch.

It had been a good long while since I'd played a game of proper Quidditch. I was surprised to find a part of me, not so small, wanted to play again. _Careful, Harry_, my memories whispered, _that was a thought perilously close to normal._

"So, we're heading toward Azkaban?" Hermione asked about fifteen minutes later. The cold at ten thousand feet was taxing our heating charms. It'd soon be time to turn in for the night.

I nodded. "We'll be there before dawn, or just on, if I time it right. In and out in half an hour and then I'll portkey Voldemort's bloody horcrux into the sun."

"Sounds like a plan." Neville yawned. "I might go get a few hours sleep. You lot probably should as well."

"Are you coming, Harry?" Ron asked, as he and Hermione followed Neville below deck.

"In a minute. Just need to press a few buttons and point us in the right direction. Goodnight, you two. Sleep well."

"Goodnight, Harry."

Once they were gone, I stood up, stretched my tired and abused limbs, and went and set the battleship on a slow cruise to give me a few hours before we reached our sordid destination. With a few quick wand flicks, I created an apparation marker on deck so I could find the ship again, and the disappeared with a small pop.

* * *

><p><em>At what point does justice become vengeance, old man?<em>

_Who gave you the right to cross the line? You don't see how stubbornly you cling to this path on the road to Hell._

* * *

><p>I knocked on the door of the manor house and, shivering in the cool night air, wished I had a cigarette or a fine, vanilla flavoured cigar.<p>

A light came on in the hallway, beyond the frosted, colourful glass either side of the solid oak door and I ran a hand back through my hair, bouncing from foot to foot. I could face down gods, demons, Dark Lords, and all the evil in between, but talking to a pretty girl still had me shuffling nervously.

Apolline Delacour, Fleur's mother, answered the door in her nightgown.

"I... er... Good evening, Mrs. Delacour."_ Stumbling idiot._

Fleur's mother was half-veela, and stunningly beautiful. She was close to fifty, if memory served, but did not look a day over thirty. A young thirty. A young, beautiful thirty. Several inappropriate thoughts danced through my mind, and I shook them away as foolish.

"The infamous 'Arry Potter," Apolline said, holding her nightgown closed over her front.

"Please forgive the late hour. I called earlier in the day, but no one was home. I was hoping to speak to..." The patter of bare footsteps down the staircase delivered Fleur into the hallway. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw me, but then a small grin fell across her features. "Fleur."

"'Arry. You have met my mother, it seems."

"Sorry to call so late, but I just wanted to make sure you were okay." I shuffled on the doorstep, feeling out of place under Apolline's not-quite-hostile-but-frosty glare. "I guess you are, so I'll be off—"

"Come upstairs, 'Arry," Fleur said, and took my hand, pulling me over the threshold and passed her mother.

"Your father will be home in the morning, Fleur," Apolline said. "I would not expect Monsieur Potter to be here then, _oui_?"

With that, she left us to our own devices, and I followed Fleur upstairs to her bedroom.

Gentle candlelight adorned bookcases and her dresser, filling the air with the scent of lavender and roses. Fleur sat down on her bed, and pulled me down with her. The covers were warm underneath me, from where she had been laying before my arrival.

Fleur slipped her arms around my chest and nestled her head in the nook below my shoulder. The swell of the life growing inside of her brushed the waistband of my trousers. Such a small, precious thing.

"For once, you arrive not broken or bleeding, 'Arry," Fleur whispered. She twined her feet in mine, kicking off my shoes with her toes. "Can you stay?"

I thought of my friends, alone and sleeping up on the battleship. The nameless vessel would be somewhere over Italy now, heading toward the United Kingdom and Azkaban. I needed to be back aboard before it reached the prison.

"I can spare an hour, yes."

"Magnifique..." Fleur yawned. Her hair, tickling my chin, smelled of strawberries. "What 'ave you been up to today, father of my child? Do I dare ask?"

"Recovering ancient magical relics, for the most part." I also met our granddaughter. _I think_. "I missed you."

"And I you."

That made me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. Closer and closer to normal, what with all this _feeling_ and thirst for actually living life. I had to be careful, or too much sentiment would weaken my resolve. It had happened before, in lives when I hadn't been able to let go.

Was I already too deep, wrapped up in this beautiful woman? Oh most likely.

After a few minutes of silence and Fleur scratching her nails lightly against my chest, having undone a few buttons on my shirt, she sighed and straddled me. In the warm candlelight, her hair glowed and her eyes were two spots of soft, yellow colour against the dark.

She leaned down and kissed me, her hands working at the button on my trousers.

I didn't put up much of a fight, and fell that much deeper toward terrible, weak sentiment.

* * *

><p><em>A thousand years has gone so fast.<em>

* * *

><p>Dawn broke the eastern horizon and I stood at the control column of my Atlantean cruiser, circling the mighty fortress of Azkaban from above. Ron, Hermione, and Neville were at my side, wands at the ready, gazing down at the choppy sea and the black spire of dementor-infested rock.<p>

"It's ugly," Ron said. "Real ugly."

"What do you expect of a place where happiness comes to die?" I muttered. Something was nagging at the back of my mind, but I wasn't sure what.

Hermione was staring at me. "You smell like lavender, Harry."

I was too old and too tired to be blushing.

"We'll set the ship to circling the island from above, and I'll pull us down through the anti-apparation wards. Then we'll get to work."

"Why would he put a horcrux here?" Neville asked.

"Who's stupid enough to come looking for it here? The dementors alone... Come on, let's be having it then."

Five minutes later and I stood on a rickety old jetty, weather-stained and ruined from a century of use, with my small group of allies. Wands out, we shielded ourselves against the wind and strode toward the massive, dark prison that consumed most of the island.

Drops of rain about the size of two pound coins splashed against my arms. I'd left my suit jacket aboard, the last good one I had, and rolled up the sleeves of my white shirt to get to work.

"It's so quiet here," Hermione said. "I thought it would be louder. Where are the guards? The dementors?"

"I—" A lance of white-hot pain shot through my scar and blood dribbled down into my eyes. I stumbled and caught myself, pressing the back of my hand against my forehead. "Oh... shit."

"Harry! What's wrong?"

I wiped the blood from my eyes and chuckled. A quick cleaning charm sorted the mess on the lenses of my glasses.

_A warning,_ I thought. _I guess you didn't get Atlantis after all... otherwise what would you be doing here, Tom?_

"He's here," I said, as if discussing the matter over drinks. "Voldemort is here, and he knows I am, as well."

"_What?_" Ron cursed. "We need to get back on the ship and get out of here."

We were stuck on the island with Voldemort and his Death Eaters—and no doubt a slew of dark creatures under his sway.

"Harry, what do we do?"

My eye was twitching, I could feel it, and I was almost gnawing on my bottom lip. I raised my wand toward the blackened sky and, after contemplating the magic, simply screamed pure insanity against the heavens. Thick waves of ugly, yellow light burst from my wand and struck the clouds overhead, igniting the dark blanket with fetid golden flame.

The fire rippled along the base of the clouds, spreading out in all directions and for hundreds of miles, disappearing over the horizon. After a long minute, the entire sky was aflame and surging with cords of my awesome strength.

Hermione caught my arm and gently lowered it. Smoke rose in thick tendrils from the tip of my wand. "Harry," she said. "What did you just do?"

"I just blanketed the entire northern hemisphere with anti-apparation and anti-portkey wards. Oh, and severed the floo network. A touch excessive, perhaps, but he knows we're here for the horcrux and means to stop us from reaching the damned thing. I just made sure none of _them_ can escape, either."

"You've trapped us here?" Hermione crossed her arms under her breasts and held herself. "Are you mad?"

"As they come, sweetheart." I laughed and she took a step back, uncertain. "You knew that from day one." Ron and Neville were clustered together, standing apart from me. "Don't you see? This is it."

"Harry, mate, we shouldn't be here—"

"This is exactly where we should be, Ron. I can take him. I know I can. The game has changed—I'm stronger and faster than I've ever been. He doesn't know how powerful I am, and that's why I'll win! Lily from the future told me so. You hear me, snake face? _AT LONG FUCKING LAST I WILL WIN!_"

Horror spread across their pale faces, and Hermione, Ron, and Neville stepped away from me. I watched them fall back with half a grin and blood staining my teeth from the hole I'd chewed in my tongue.

At long last, they understood. I wasn't the boy they'd grown up with. I wasn't the child they saw before them. Horror, yes, but also a profound sadness, as my friends realised I'd let them die if it meant destroying even a scrap of the Dark Lord.

"It's not about saving the world is it?" Hermione whispered. "It's just about killing him, no matter who gets hurt. Harry, you're insane."

My golden shield covered the world in pale, ugly, yellow light. Bathed the sea in horrible shades of regret and the inevitable.

"No, Hermione, no, no, no. I've seen the future. I know what's to come. I'm the only one sane enough to do what has to be done. Now, my friends, shall we go burn Azkaban to the ground?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**__ Blimey, next chapter promises some action. Harry's gonna throwdown hard. Right, sorry again about the chapter delay. Next update will be for An Unfound Door, my other awesome fanfic. This was short and sweet, but I've been getting a lot of emails re: updates and I wanted to let y'all know I'm still at it, but concentrating more on original writing._

_I won't abandon this story. It will be done. But my original stuff comes first now. Which, by the way, you can check out on Amazon!_

**Distant Star by Joe Ducie**

_Available as a paperback or ebook from Cedar Sky!_

_Much love,_

_Joe_


	15. Chapter 13: Ships That Are Passing

_**A/N: **__Well, I guess you could say that this is somewhat overdue… No excuses, I've just had priorities a lot greater than finishing fanfiction last few years. I'm something of a published author, these days. Still, I keep my promises. Here's an update!_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Harry Potter and the Heartlands of Time<strong>_

_Chapter Thirteen – Ships That Are Passing_

_Perfect endings… they don't exist, 'Phie. Only in stories,  
>where nothing ever really changes. Here, right now, isn't a story.<br>There is no happy ending, because it's not the end.  
>Do you understand?<em>

- Joe Ducie (Distant Star)

A lot of hearts in this world are scared and alone.

I could have done anything with my life. My _lives_. All twenty-odd thousand of 'em. And, indeed, I spent entire centuries just wandering the earth, caught within that eight year cycle—Voldemort's end of the world countdown, if I didn't interfere. _My interference often brought about the end that much quicker…_

I saw some sights. A lot of those sights worth seeing.

I met Tessa.

* * *

><p><em>Certain people resonate in our lives, Harry. And something as abstract as Time cannot stand in the way of those people. How we feel about them. A weak sort of fate, magnets at the right polarity, but years and distance and even death are no match to the near-inconceivable force that ties you to your mother, and thus the Dark Lord.<em>

"_About six, seven hundred years into this game I… I kind of lost sight of anything that mattered." A bitter laugh. "I mean, after all that time, how could any of this seem important? How could it all matter when I'd seen it swept away so many times? Obviously, it couldn't."_

"_You became Voldemort," Hermione said, her hands shaking on the table. "Or something very similar."_

_I thought about that for a moment and then shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Something similar. I didn't care who lived or who died – except _him_. That son of a bitch would never die. Atlantis ensured that. Still, I wasn't the good guy anymore, if that makes sense. I was as feared as the Dark Lord and then some…"_

"_And you're alright now?" Ron asked. "I mean, you've not gone bonkers, have you, mate?"_

_Hermione shushed him. "How did you pull yourself back, Harry?" she asked. "If you became so lost, how did you keep going?"_

"_Not a how, but a who…" I sighed. "Her name was Tessa."_

* * *

><p>Wicked wand light: bruised purple, sordid crimson, sickly green, criss-crossed the sky at sunset over the island prison Azkaban.<p>

Death Eaters, Dementors, dark creatures, and all manner of damned and dreary disasters had spewed forth from the ancient and rusted gates of the prison.

With my friends at my back, Ron, Hermione, and Neville, I watched the wave of light roll towards us like a tsunami of malcontent and vicious _intent_… and found it lacking. The surge was like the tide coming in, aiming to wash us away.

I flicked my wand and dozens of counter lights, all white and shining because wasn't I just the poster boy for the light in this world, spun from my wand in a tangled mess of thin beams. _Thing about truly appreciating the light,_ I thought,_ is you have to have steeped yourself in the dark._ And I'd swam in those murky waters, won the gold medal, you might say. Had my time in the sun at midnight.

Voldemort was darkness. I was his shadow. Pale, in that regard, but also unseen and unfound. I don't know why that felt important, but it was. A handful of centuries playing this game and losing, each and every time, and now I'd learnt something new. That desire and intent were not enough to banish the dark. No, no, no. _Beep, motherfuckin'_, _beep_. Desire and intent were mere candles next to the ferocity of _belief_.

I'd grown too old and bitter, to sure that the world was ready to spit in my face and grind my nose into the gravel, because Time and the universe itself were _bullies_. Bullies just like Voldemort. I'd been scarred with that knowledge the night my parents rode the green rollercoaster down, down to Deadtown.

But some days, perhaps a day just like today bathed in ethereal and fetid light alike, some days could be kind. I could believe that flowers will grow in spoiled soil, that chaos won't swallow the world whole, warmth from the hearth will keep the cold at bay, and the crust on my apple pie will be fit to burst with sugar and sweetness.

_Belief…_ I'd never honestly believed I could win, even in those first few resets where I had the advantage. Because there's no winning without loss, without defeat. _No one's really died this time around, though…_ If belief couldn't shape the world, it could at least support the best of my good intentions.

I'd built highways to hell with my good intentions in the past. An entire interstate network, bridges spanning continents and forgotten decades. Perhaps the path less trodden, this time around.

_Perhaps I needed to take a step back and play this game from the start…_

Anyway, a whole lot of batshit insane magic and menace was bearing down on us, on our cruel spit of land on the very outskirts of Azkaban's island. The beams of my belief, bursting from my wand in pulsating bands, dozens after dozens, intercepted the waves of negative spell light and a tremendous _splash_ of colour and sound, like a can of paint thrown against a canvas, and surged up into the air, towards the sky. High above my battleship, set to autopilot, weaved through the deflected spells and—the intuitive interface linked to my thoughts—rained magical cannon fire down upon Azkaban.

I'd say it sounded like the world ending, but I'd heard that happen far too many times. The world doesn't end in light and sound. It bleeds out slow, festers like an infected wound leaking pus, and in the end it's me and him, the Dark Lord, left standing over the ashes.

"I'm going to win," I said, throwing my friends a wink over my shoulder. They couldn't hear me. They held their wands at the ready, but this magical mayhem wasn't a tune they could dance to. This game needed less spellslingers, not more.

_Harry…_

Voldemort.

In my head.

I almost laughed. That wasn't supposed to happen. My scar burnt hot and heavy and split along its seam, bleeding once more.

_Hello, Tom,_ I thought-said.

_You have come for my Horcrux._

I nodded. _One of seven._

The crashing spells fell back on the Death Eaters and Dementors, obliterating the former and scattering the latter. Craters the size of minivans punched into the hard basalt rock, formed in explosions and boiling pools of hybrid magic falling from the sky. The dark creatures, of shapes and size too many to name, but there were some spider bastards in there, took the brunt of the deadly rainfall. _Ash and less than ash. So it goes._ I could destroy swaths of these creatures, but there were always more.

It wasn't about being the best or the fastest, the most powerful—it couldn't be, otherwise I would have won before now. Winning wasn't how much of the sky we set on fire, but had to be won on more moral grounds—ethical balance. I had to be better.

_You destroy this island and you bury the Horcrux shield under a mountain of rock and an ocean of water. You will hide it better than even I, in my youth._ Voldemort's laughter echoed across my mind.

_We should talk, _I agreed. _Face to face._

_You're an old man, Harry. An old man who has known nothing but defeat. Come to me and you die—for the last time._

I snorted. _Sure of that, are you?_ I felt the line of ropy scar tissue running across my neck, from where Voldemort had slit my throat in Atlantis. _I don't die easy, you son of a bitch_.

_No… would that it were so. I believe you even want it now, after so long, do you not? Let me end your existence, Harry. A thousand years and countless deaths must have taught you one thing—this world is mine._

I'd made a promise a few days ago, no more than a week, not to be responsible for another genocide. But as I spoke to Voldemort, and as the scattered Dementors regrouped and nightmares echoed swift and sure through my mind, I realised I was going to break that promise.

And that I'd have to retreat from this battle, if I was going to have any chance of winning. So soon after believing I could do it, I felt myself faltering—not because I was unsure, but because this path, throwing entire continents of power at the Dark Lord, had never worked. I had to be better.

_We're leaving,_ I said to Voldemort. _Sorry to have bothered you._

An unspoken command shivered across the ruined and _melting_ island of Azkaban. The prison itself shook in its foundations, centuries of dust and loose rock falling from the dark structure. Voldemort's forces lowered their wands, the Dementors gathered but paused just on the edge of attack, and those creatures remaining that hadn't been turned to soup growled but held.

The spells rang in my ears, as I turned to my friends.

"Not happening today, after all," I said and clapped Neville on the shoulder. "I'm hungry. Let's go to Hogwarts for dinner."

With a flick of my wand I disbanded the spells I'd cast across the northern hemisphere restricting apparation and portkey travel. I reconnected the floo network. The magic fell across the horizon as if someone had set snowfall on fire.

"That… was anticlimactic," Hermione said. "Harry, your scar is bleeding."

"I need to calm down," I said and held my forearm against the scar. It was red hot, scorching. The blood falling down my face tasted bitter. "I'm too… too noisy, you know? There's nothing subtle anymore. I miss that."

"What are you talking about, mate?"

I shrugged. "Voldemort's afforded us safe passage off the island. Neither of us wants this today, not really." I barked a rough laugh. "Even after all this time I still make the same old mistakes. It was wrong to come here like this, to burn through such pure magic. It's loud and ugly."

"What about the… Horcrux?" Hermione asked.

I licked my lips, spat out some blood, and sighed. "It'll keep. I'm not sure…" The necklace my maybe-future-granddaughter had given me in a dream felt cool against my chest. I took that as a good sign. "I'm not sure how important that is, anymore. Now hold on tight."

I zipped my friends back up to the battleship, on a magical wing and an unhappy prayer, and put Azkaban at our backs.

_I shall see you soon, Harry Potter, _Voldemort whispered. Confident. Sure. _For the last time._

Immortal.

* * *

><p><em>The light was dim, as in all good whiskey lounges, and Tessa sat on the stool next to me, smiling around lipstick as dark and red as the dress she wore.<em>

"_So what's your turn on?" I asked. "Say, what clothes work for you on a guy?"_

"_A man in a fine suit. And you, Harry?"_

"_I'm partial to girls in knee-high socks or boots. Something about that does it for me."_

"_Really?" Tessa winked. "I'll remember that. Anything else?"_

"_There's nothing more enticing than a woman whispering something."_

_Tessa bit her lip and gave me a wicked smile. She leaned in close "Like this?" I tried not to shiver as she rested her hand just above my knee. "Or more like… this?" she whispered and blew cool air against my ear as her hand moved up my thigh. "You smell good, Harry."_

* * *

><p>"I need to step back and reassess the end of this long, oh so long, game," I told my friends over dinner that night, under a torch of dim light casting us in a warm glow. "Can't afford to make the same old mistakes—not again, not this time. There are no second chances any longer."<p>

"But, you've known that for some time, haven't you?" Hermione asked.

I nodded slowly and helped myself to a few fluffy Yorkshire puddings and slices of roast beef from the impressive spread. We were eating at a round table in a small private room, not at Hogwarts, as I couldn't be bothered with the gasps and whispers, but at a tiny restaurant bar off the main drag of Hogsmeade called, simply, _Cauldron_.

Ron was digging into some candied carrots, spooning the delish orange and purple vegetables from a self-replenishing bowl onto his plate. Neville picked at his food sparingly, deep in thought.

I considered Hermione's question, then nodded. "I've known it the same way you know you should eat healthier, or exercise more. Everyone knows it, and occasionally you'll even quit the fizzy pop and hit the gym for a few days, but it's hard to break the habits of a life time." I chuckled. "And I've lived enough life to have some fairly ingrained, unhealthy habits. Thinking I had an infinite number of lives was just one, perhaps the least, of my bad habits."

So much had changed in this iteration. Saturnia, Chronos, to name just two new pieces on the chessboard. Despite that, I had to believe that my lives had been building toward this end, this goal. That I was ready, perhaps even deserved, to win.

And that meant some significant changes. Least of all, I needed to quit drinking, which after a thousand years of knocking back the same bottle of scotch again and again felt like heresy. My mind was that of a hopeless alcoholic, even if my body was young and vital.

"I can no longer live without consequence," I told my friends—Hermione in particular. I saw the love in her eyes, and felt unworthy. I was a mess. "That's why I didn't storm Azkaban today, why that wasn't the right move. Do you see what I mean? It was not only a foolish risk, but sloppy. Cavalier. The move of a man who doesn't care if he wins." I fell into my thoughts, playing out the scenarios as I saw them, and shook my head. "We may have taken the island, even destroyed a piece of Voldemort's soul, but it's ugly, uncouth, without style. I need to be better than that."

Neville cleared his throat. "Why?" I stared at him hard. "I'm not being difficult or even disagreeing," he said quickly, "but why? Why is it important to do it this way, instead of the other?"

"Do you know what the definition of insanity is, Neville?" I asked, knowing the topic was a sore subject. I wasn't referring to the mindless oblivion his parents had been tortured into, however. "It's doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. I am trying very hard, right now, not to order a drink. I have been doing the same thing for countless lives and endless years. It's time I tried something different."

"But yoof tried before?" Ron said around a mouthful of carrots. He swallowed. "I mean, you've tried doing things differently before, right? Learning what worked and what didn't."

I nodded. "True, but I'm talking more about a change here," I held a hand over my heart, "and here." I moved my hand to my forehead and tapped my scar. "An attitude adjustment, a new way of thinking. Wise instead of smart, you know. For centuries now I've carried all of this alone. My choice, and I've no right to complain about that. Merlin knows I've suffered for my choices. Last time will count for all, my friends. This is, I think, the beginning of the end."

And I found that thought more than a little relieving. I was ready to move on, into death (so be it, after so long), and into the future. I didn't want these years any longer. I wanted new years, new fears—to cry new tears. I played with the necklace given to me in a dream. Perhaps there was a future where I pulled this off—perhaps this reality was now.

"Anyway, enough work talk, let's eat—this place does a stupidly awesome chocolate and brandy snap basket." I raised a glass to my friends. A glass of sparkling water, flavoured lightly with honey berry syrup. "To days to come," I said. "Good times in good company."

We stepped out into the cool night air an hour later on the cusp of nine o'clock, a thousand million stars blazing overhead in soft constellations, meandering in a slow arm of interstellar dust and light. It was one of those still nights, in which the entire world seemed to be holdings its breath, patiently, for winter and snowfall. Late autumn was the final breath of dying things.

"Safe walk back to the castle, okay," I told my friends. "I'll see you in a few days, after I've made some arrangements. You're going to have to decide whether or not you want to follow me, in the weeks to come. I know you've already made your decisions, and I thank you." I hugged them each in turn. "But things are going to get nasty. Some of us will die, we always do…"

"You be safe, Harry," Hermione said. "And… don't be alone, okay. I think you've been alone too long."

I gave her a kiss on her forehead and then sent them on their way. Kids, just kids, and me an old, tired man. Kids I would use to fight a war. My change of heart hadn't changed what needed to be done. We would still have to stand. My friends would still have to fight. I was feeling my age more these days. Perhaps because I'd made a conscious decision to quit drinking, which already felt like a shackle around my neck. I'd need a plan, need to keep busy. Everything I did in the days and weeks to come had to be with purpose—to stop Voldemort.

I'd parked the battleship above the field out front of the Shrieking Shack, and I headed that way now. At the end of the curved laneway I reached the main street of Hogsmeade, well lit and a few dozen folk walking the streets.

An Auror, just one, was waiting for me on the corner of the cobblestoned road. Word of my arrival in Hogsmeade had spread quickly. She held no wand, but was dressed in her formal robes. Her brunette hair was tied back in a firm ponytail and she smiled in greeting when our eyes connected.

"Mr. Potter," she said. "I'm Auror Helms—"

"Serena Helms, yes," I said, and returned her smile gently. "We died together once, in the ruins of the Ministry. You were very brave and I was very drunk."

Serena's smiled faltered. She handed me a scroll of parchment bearing the Ministry's seal. "A summons?" I guessed. "And not at wand point? Are we all growing up, after so long? I shudder to think so."

I cracked the seal and scanned the document. Not a trial, but in the courtrooms nevertheless. A hearing on all that happened involving me in the last few months, and a requirement to testify under penalty of blah-blah-blah and risk of fines and/or imprisonment. When was I expected? Ah, tomorrow morning.

I thought on my promise to be better, stronger, and to perhaps not carry all the weight of the world on my shoulders. I'd need Ministry resources, particularly the cache of ancient weaponry in the Department of Mysteries, for the fight to come. Not that I couldn't steal what I needed, but I wanted them on my side. To minimise the casualties, I'd need the manpower.

Very well.

"Tell them I'll be there," I said. "In good faith, Serena Helms. I will be there in good faith."

I left the subtle warning unspoken—should the Ministry betray that faith, I would not be so reasonable.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**_ _I'll spare you the details, but I'm going to try and update again soon. This and An Unfound Door. Consider this chapter sort of a foundation, after a few shaky years, upon which the rest of the story will be built and concluded. I foresee about a 15 chapter arc to finish Heartlands. Time it was put to bed, wouldn't you say? Thanks for reading – leave me a review!_

_Best,_

_Joe_


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